


Liv and Loki

by Seidrwriter



Category: Norse Religion & Lore
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, International Fanworks Day 2021
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 22:28:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 45
Words: 34,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29357985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seidrwriter/pseuds/Seidrwriter
Summary: This story was originally completed and published in 2016. It pleased me to twist the Norse myths into something for contemporary times. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.What happens when Loki no longer wishes to bring about Ragnarök?
Relationships: Loki and OC Livia
Kudos: 3





	1. Incarnation

**Author's Note:**

> Líf and Lífþrasir's (Lif and Lifthrasir) story comes up in both the Prose and Poetic Eddas. They are said to be the two humans who are meant to survive Ragnarök and repopulate the world after.

Reborn. Born again to serve as the instrument of the beginning of the end of the world. I am irreverence. I am chaos. And I will bring about Ragnarök. I am Loki.

***

Ah, the warmth of the sun. For too long it has been denied me. And now, in this place, at this time, I may enjoy it, if only for too short a time.

Even with my eyes shut, I can tell that it is fall. The air is crisp and clean when I sniff it. The sun warms my frigid skin. It has been too long that I have been denied these things. Too long.

Do I dare to open my eyes? Will I find the children I hear laughing? Will I see the sun? Or is it all merely illusion in my mind born of an eternity of punishment? Do I merely dream that I am free? But what man dreams the bark of dogs? The sound of children when he has none to yet outlive him?

I dare. The dogs gambol into me, their huge slobbering heads aimed directly for my crotch. I fend them off easily. They lick my hands, shove their heads against me.

“Well hello. Who did you run away from, hm?”

They are happy to see me, these domestic dogs whose very nature is to distrust all that is unknown. And, it is a first. Few on Miðgarðr, or anywhere else, seem happy to see me when I arrive. But these two panting beasts are no illusion. Oh no, they are all too real with their furry bodies and foul breath.

“Óðinn! Thor! Where did you get off to?”

And they are thrilled by the sound of that voice. Beautiful, that voice. No wonder they thrill to it.

“Óðinn and Thor, how fitting are your names? And your owner is simply lovely, is she not?” I ask them, my gaze on the figure striding toward me.

By all that is sacred, she is beautiful, her form is as lovely as her voice. And what of me? What will she think? Dirty, unkempt, that is what. My hair is in knots around my shoulders, my clothing torn and stained. No, that will not do. In this time and place I must be more. I must be that which I was born to be. I must blend with my surroundings and be that which is expected of me.

It is no more than mere thought to turn torn and tattered robes into well worn jacket and jeans like what I see around me. No more than a quick hand through my hair to tame it off of my face.

“Is she nice, do you think? Could she be accommodating?”

But the beasts have no answer. They too have alerted to her coming and stare at her, as do I.

I stand at her approach. Were I to kneel would she see me; look at me, notice me?

“Here you are, you bad dogs.” She see me standing behind the beasts. She smiles. She seems embarrassed at the behavior of these dogs of hers.

“I’m sorry. Were they bothering you?”

“No bother at all. They’re quite friendly dogs. Óðinn and Thor, you say?”

“Yes.”

“Fan of the, ah, movies?” It is the billboard across the street that has given me the idea. Thor. Of course. Surely there is room among all of the gods for me this time?

“What? Oh no, not really. Norse mythology is a passion of mine.”

“Really? And you chose Óðinn and Thor instead of another pair of gods?”

She clips the dogs onto their leads. I see her features settle into a scowl. Is she angry with me? Have I done something wrong?

“What would you suggest I should have named them?”

It is a challenge, I recognize it as such and respond in kind. “Týr and Loki or Njörðr and Freyr? I don’t know. You had so many to choose from. Hod and Baldr? Ullr and Viðar?”

“And you know your mythology.” She stands and wraps one hand around her elbow. Her gaze is appraising, sweeping me with more than a little interest now.

I have surprised her out of her mounting irritation with me. I cannot help but smile.

“You could say that,” I tell her.

“Could I?”

She takes my measure. Her gaze is like a fire that rushes across my skin. This woman holds no illusions and is not afraid. I am captured beneath her stare, a prisoner of it. Oh to remain a prisoner with her my captor. That is an eternity I could get behind.

“Do you teach here?”

“Here?” A quick glance at the surroundings beyond the park confirms my location. “Hm.” The lie is contemplated and discounted. What if she teaches here? “No, I don’t teach. I just know mythology.”

“Norse in particular or just any old mythology?”

Oh to trade challenges with her all day. She is well prepared to challenge me again and again. And I am well prepared to accept.

“Well, I’m conversant in most myths, I suppose. The Icelandic myths appeal to me however. It’s almost as if they speak to me personally.” And I grin. I cannot help myself.

Would that I could share my truth with her. She seems well prepared to accept it.

She looks both amused and annoyed with me. So long as one or the other keeps her here and talking to me.

“Well, if you’re so into Norse mythology, I hold a weekly discussion forum at the bookstore. You’re welcome to come and discuss it with us.”

I laugh. “A Norse mythology discussion club? You’re serious? Is such a thing even possible?”

I’ve gone too far. She is frowning.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to jest. I’m just surprised. It hardly seems a popular topic.”

Perhaps it is. Perhaps the inhabitants of Miðgarðr find mythology supremely interesting. There is that billboard, after all. And her. Am I wrong to assume? Could the stories have new meaning in this day and age?

“Well, perhaps the movies had a lot to do with the resurgence in popularity. But it’s always held a special place for me. I grew up on stories of the Norse gods at my amma’s knee.”

Does she read my mind? But no, she’s followed my gaze to the sign. Perceptive. And is she Norse? Her use of the familiar amma makes it seem likely.

“Most people come and then leave when they see how serious we are. Some stay and join us,” she continues, back on topic.“It’s laid back discussion about the myths in the context of the world at that time. I don’t suppose you’d be interested.” And she turns away.

“I’m interested.” I’ve taken a step after her before I even realize and stop before she thinks I intend her harm.

She looks at me over her shoulder. I could get lost in that look. Truly. I could.

“The shop’s located near the corner of Massachusetts and Bow streets. We meet on Thursday nights at 7:00, after the shop closes.” And she starts away once more.

“What’s your name?” I dare not follow. I call to her instead.

“Livia Andersen.”

“Livia.” And how do I present myself to her? “I’m Lukas. Lukas Farbauson.”

“See you around, Lukas.” She calls over her shoulder.

Indeed.


	2. Interest

I have to walk away just to escape that gaze searing my soul. I’ve never been looked at in quite such a way before. He was searching for meaning in me. His intensity was almost frightening and his arrogance purely annoying. But how quickly he backed down when he thought he made me mad.

Thor and Óðinn liked him on sight. And he wasn’t afraid of them like most people are when they run hell bent away from me off leash. He was actually petting them, albeit avoiding their drool as best he could.

I’ve never seen him. He’s never been to my store or attended one of the discussions. How could I have missed someone so obviously versed in Norse mythology all this time? And he rattled off the names of gods, Æsir and Vanir both, as though he often spoke them. He must have studied them.

Maybe he’s new in town. Maybe.

And I cannot escape the feeling that he recognized me.

“Liv! Over here!”

Matty. I’ve walked right past her so lost in thought am I. I turn back, take my usual seat across the table from her.

“Sorry.”

“What’s going on? You were off in your own little world there.”

“Oh, Óðinn and Thor got away in the park again. They found a new friend.”

“Some poodle or pomeranian?”

“He said his name is Lukas.”

“Lukas?” Her eyebrows fly up. “Your mutts introduced you to someone new?”

“I suppose they did at that.” I pat their huge heads and they both look up at me. “He didn’t seem the least bit afraid of them either.”

“Did you get his number?”

“No. And I didn’t offer mine.” I look away to find the waiter and gesture for my usual coffee.

“Is he good looking?”

“Who?”

Matty cackles. “Who, she says. Don’t feign innocence with me, Livia. Lukas, that’s who.”

“I didn’t really notice.”

“Hm, what color is his hair?”

“Sort of deep brown. Like a nice dark beer.”

“Uh-huh, I see. And his eyes?”

“Forest green.”

“How tall is he, Livia?”

“He’s got to be six and a half feet tall, Matty. He’s very tall.” I think back to the length of his muscled thighs, the molded stomach and chest that seemed to go on forever.

“And you didn’t notice if he’s good looking?”

“Fine. He’s decent.” I think back to his easy smile. “He’s cute.”

“Cute is a death blow for any man. I think you like him.” She points with her mug. “You certainly have a descriptive idea what he looks like.”

“No.” I settle into my chair. “He seemed very smart.”

“And he scores!” She laughs and throws her hands up.

“Arrogant, too.”

“Crushing blow.”

“Are you keeping score?” I raise my eyebrow.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I am.” She pops a donut bite into her mouth.

“Well, he’s got a lot to prove.”

“You invited him to your myth group, didn’t you? He’s going to run away screaming in boredom.” She sighs and leans to me. “You know there’s more to life than just the bookstore and your gods, Liv. There are real people, for instance. Like this guy. Give him a chance. He might surprise you.”

“He named a handful of those gods like, like they were personal friends, Matty. He knows this stuff like the back of his hand. Like I do.”

“Oh well, he’s a winner then. He can keep you up nights arguing your thesis. Or defrosting your ice queen ways.”

“Really?” I throw a wadded napkin at her. “I am not frigid.”

“When was the last date you had? Remind me again.”

I hide behind my coffee. “I’m busy.”

“Ask him out.”

“No!”

“Chicken.”

“Fuck you, Matty.”

She chortles. “I’m serious. You can’t ignore half of humanity because some asshole-“

“Just don’t, Matty. Don’t. It’s history. And it’s nothing to do with how busy I am, you know that.”

“I know no such thing. I’m your friend, Liv. I’m telling you for your own good, go out with this guy.”


	3. Incarnation

Mortals have changed. Their beliefs are different. Their morality is different.

When did they stop believing?

I walk the nighttime streets, expecting to find a seedy underworld. Instead, I find bookstores open at all hours, movie houses on every corner. Tragedies performed for the masses.

And the news stations. Television. How could I ever hope to be as troublesome to the mortals as they are to themselves? What damage will be wrought by the likes of me?

I bide my time, learning as much as I can about this world in which I find myself. And I perform my duty; sowing the seeds of dissent and dissatisfaction among any mortals who bother to pay attention.

Do they even care that their election was stolen by a madman who serves his own nihilistic megalomania on television? Does what I do even register, or would they come to these decisions their own?

Perhaps my role is not so clear. Perhaps the prophecy is wrong. Perhaps Ragnarök will start in Ásgarðronce again. And yet, here I am. It seems expected of me.

Here, inside my apartment, where all is silent and I am alone, I muse over these things. Outside, during the day, it is different. I have purpose. I am busy changing the course of history and the future of these mortals. But alone, in the night, I wonder.

The cessation of the European Union? That was me. The election of the megalomaniac president? Partially me. That war that just broke out in Sudan? Yeah, that was me too. It is laughably easy to influence these twenty-first century mortals. Everywhere I look I am greeted by the sight of irreverence. Everywhere I look I see reflected back; me.

I linger at night. I stay where it is well lit and crowded. I haunt the big box bookstore across town and read every book.

Jesus, it seems, fills the void left by us. By all of us relegated to myth and to memory. But even His time seems on the wane. No, these mortals have little use for gods or Gods, as the case may be. They have outgrown us. We are relics of an age of fear. And this? This is an age of reason.

And I am lonely and alone. Jesus help me, if you ever even existed. I am a lonely god stuck among mortals who’ve only even ever heard of me through comics and movies. Not forgotten, but viewed through the lens of time. And that time has not been kind to us. No, it has not.

I go to a church. A synagogue. A mosque. I don’t find their God anywhere. I can’t even find my own brethren. Have they forsaken this place as those here have forsaken us?

I intend to find out.


	4. Ásgarðr

Ásgarðr . Homecoming for a masochist. But I can ignore all the finery here. It’s as meaningless as an extra set of balls. It’s all for show when what you’ve already got will suffice.

“Loki!”

I cringe inwardly. Óðinn has always been only too happy to see me when it suits him. I stride through the smoky hall to stand before his throne, hands behind my back, head held high. I nod. It’s the most I intend to give him. I have not forgotten his treatment of me.

“Come now, are you still angry over that misunderstanding?” Nor, it seems, has he.

“Misunderstanding? You mean when you tossed me out? Bound me to that rock? Left me to linger in my confinement and pain? That misunderstanding?” I entertain the idea of stepping up and smacking him across the face. Perhaps that would drop the smug he wears.

“It was a long time ago now, Loki. Cheer up. You’re free.”

“No thanks to you.”

“You’re looking well, uncle.”

I let out a sigh. “A family reunion, how nice for me.” Þórr. Why not?

“How are you doing in Miðgarðr?” Óðinn asks.

“Smashingly. They don’t give a damn about us. I thought you would know. We’re forgotten. They’ve moved on.”

“Nonsense. We’re gods, Loki. Mortals don’t forget their gods.”

As if that makes a difference. I nod. I must remember with whom I am dealing. I cross my arms.

“And here? How are things in Ásgarðr , my brother?”

He used to hate when I reminded him of our ties. Now he smiles at me with what I can only assume is real affection. Has he grown soft in my absence? Or has he merely missed his whipping boy? To think that I once loved him enough to share blood, to bind us together.

“We’re well, Loki. We’ve been expecting your return for some time,” Óðinn says.

“I got tied up.”

Þórr snorts laughter. Well, at least I amuse someone.

“What have you done to bring about Ragnarök? I’m sure you’ve been busy.”

“This.” I gesture a wavering screen into life in the air beside me. Television was such a terrific idea. I only wish it were mine. “And this. This was me too.”

And soon there is an array of tiny, flickering screens showing my dealings in Miðgarðr. I have been busy.

Óðinn is shaking his head. He’s disappointed in me, I can tell.

“No wars killing thousands?”

“These are not enough?” I gesture at the screens and they flare. “Him.” I point to the man with the orange skin and fake hair. “He will do more damage in his time as president than anyone else in the past fifty years on Miðgarðr. I consider him one of my crowning achievements.”

“What is a president?”

“A ruler.” I stifle a sigh. They are so out of touch.

Judging by his lack of common knowledge, you would think Ásgarðr stood alone on Yggdrasil.

“Like a king?”

“If you wish it, certainly.”

“Have you lost your knack for the job, Loki? What happened to you?”

I put my hand to my face, rubbing the bridge of my nose. It goes without saying what happened to me. He caused it.

“Are there none who wish to rule enough to find you?”

“Of course there are. I keep telling you. Him. He’s a narcissistic egomaniacal, pompous man the likes of which you’ve never seen. Other than, perhaps, when you look into a mirror.”

“Why have you come here when you have your work so cut out for you there?”

Ah, that’s more like it. That’s the cold tone I’ve been expecting.

“Well. I came to tell you that they don’t believe in us anymore. We’ve been replaced many times over, Óðinn. While you sat your throne and ate of Iðunn’s fruit, your wordfame has been lost. The world moved on and Óðinn’s wordfame did not.

The Greeks, the Romans, the Jews. They’ve dumped pantheism for monotheism and they’re dumping that in favor of technocracy. We’re just one among an army of a dying breed. And we always thought our wordfame would outlive us all.” I smile. It really is all too amusing when you consider it.

“Are you telling me they no longer believe in me? You are telling me they believe in nothing?”

“Oh they believe in something, Óðinn. They believe in themselves. Some of them believe in God, Yahew, Jehovah, Mohammad, pick a name. It amounts to the same thing in the end. Some of them still lay claim to the gods of Ireland, or even to us. But at the end of the day, all those believers turn to each other for help first. We are no longer needed.”

“Nonsense.”

“See for yourself,” I challenge.

“Do your duty, Loki.”

“I am. Can’t you see that?”

I want to lash out but there is nothing here. And I realize I belong here no more than I belong on Miðgarðr. Even among my own, I am alone.

I take a deep breath and step back. “That’s all, Óðinn. That’s all I came to say.”

I turn and stride from the hall. At least I can still make a grand exit here.


	5. Myth Meeting

The sting of my visit to Ásgarðrremains. Never very intelligent to begin with, their refusal to see the truth for what it is has me convinced they are addled as well.

And here, on Miðgarðr, the leaves have all fallen. I expect that it will snow soon. It’s fine. I like the cold. I just wish it didn’t get dark so early. I miss the light.

And when I arrive at the bookshop, I go in without hesitation.

I stride in as if I own the place and am immediately greeted by Óðinn and Thor. The smart duo. The four legged ones. They meet me just inside the door.

“Well hello there,” I say. I bend over and give them both a good head rub.

I am petting them when I sense her arrival.

“Lukas?”

Is she as pleased as she sounds? I risk the glance up to confirm it and she is smiling. Whether it is for me or not, I have no idea. Maybe her dogs just make her happy.

“Livia. Hi. Well, I came.”

“So you did.” She nods at me before stepping past me to flip the open sign over. “Right on time too. Come in. We meet in the back. I hope you like red wine. It was my turn to serve and, as its my choice, I get what I want.”

I melt. Does she know how erotic her words sound to my ears? Servitude? Getting what she wants? My mouth has gone dry while my mind entertains the possibilities.

“Red wine is lovely,” I manage to force out. I sound breathless even to me.

I follow her to the back and find that the room is taken up by a large table around which are ranged a handful of men. Judging by their dress and nature, they are scholars. And here she belongs. This is her element, oh yes. Books and scholarly debate make her stand straighter, prouder, more in control. Her confidence in this moment curls into my belly like tongues of flame. By all that is sacred, I want this woman.

She takes a seat and gestures me into the one at her side. I sink into it gratefully. This close she carries the scent of wild flowers and it is making me crazy. I am afraid my madness will soon be apparent to any who offer even a casual glance our way.

She is looking around. When no one speaks, she does.

“This is Lukas Farbauson.”

They chorus hello at me and stare at me. They try to discern my nature. Am I one of them? I don’t look it. They disregard me. Fine. Let’s dance, gentlemen. I relish the thought of bringing you to your knees, if only to garner her favor.

“Livia tells me this is a somewhat regular gathering of friends who hold Norse mythology dear. Is that about right?” I ask the assembled men.

“Livia is the smartest woman I know, sir. Not only does she hold a doctorate in Norse mythology and psychology, her dissertation was a work of art. Perhaps you’ve read it?” 

There is no missing the arch tone of voice, the condescension therein. He believes I’ve come to curry favor with Livia, and that I am nothing more than a fraudster in a leather jacket.

“Indeed I have.” I keep my tone neutral though I so very much want to sneer.

I turn to find her staring at me as if I’d grown another head. While I certainly hope that not to be the case, I am convinced that she is as surprised as the questioner.

“I found your delicate balance of irony and honesty when dealing with the Norse beliefs and modern religious practices particularly insightful.”

Her mouth actually drops open. I’ve never seen that happen before. How pleasant.

I offer her a small smile. “You were spot on when you suggested that the Norse gods had no concept of the idea that mortals would simply forget them one day, outgrow them as it were.”

“You actually read it.” She is marveling at it. And I am giddy.

I raise my eyebrows at her. “Should I not?”

“Well no. It’s just that…”

She wasn’t expecting it. None of them were. I can feel it radiating from them all. Who is this long-haired interloper in denim come into their midst having read her work? The nerve. I bite back a grin of triumph.

“It was published, Livia. Surely you expected someone to read it?”

And she blinks at me. “You looked it up.”

Is she disappointed? Does she believe, as they do, that I’m here only to get on her good side? It’s true, but still, the implication bites.

“I came across it in my readings, nothing more,” I assure her. And that is, oddly enough, the truth. I didn’t go looking for it, rather it found me as I was reading to catch up.

The man who had asked me the question touches her arm. Her lover? No. He’s practically old enough to be her father. Well, I’m old enough to be her great grandfather many times removed, but you understand what I mean.

“I would posit that the gods would, frankly, be shocked at today’s world. Ásgarðris far removed from Miðgarðr, after all. They would be a bit out of touch, don’t you agree?”

Her eyebrows go up. “No. I don’t agree. Gods rarely abandon their followers.”

“Followers abandon their gods, my dear. The gods relinquish their control all the time, Livia. Gods have no earthly idea what humans get up to. Nor are they generally capable of seeing it when it smacks them in the face.”

“You’re saying that the Æsir and Vanir have no idea what happens on earth?”

“I am quite certain of it. There are few gods in Ásgarðrwho give a fig for more than what they see directly in front of them.”

“You speak like you actually believe in the gods, my man, as if they actually existed.” The old man. The questioner or, as he is in my mind - The Questioner, says this to me.

He has more than a purely intellectual interest in her to come to her defense in this way. But I can see it is not reciprocated.

“And who is to say they do not? Perhaps the gods take no interest in the existence of man, and it is only man who cares for the existence of the gods? And, if that were the case, wouldn’t mortals find little proof of their gods in the world? Would the gods feel the need to share some?”

“But the Norse believed the gods interacted with man on an almost daily basis.” He scoffs at my words.

“What if they got bored? What if they forgot that mortals would eventually figure things out on their own?”

“You’re suggesting the gods forgot about Miðgarðr.” She sounds utterly unconvinced.

I turn to her. “I’m merely suggesting that gods are more fallible than mortals, Livia. They live by their own code and call it right and just when it is merely perverse and profane.”

“But the gods were simply the personification of what man believed about his world, Lukas. The gods simply could not forget about humans.”

“Personification of man’s beliefs. An interesting theory. One I am not wholly convinced was the case with Ásgarðr .”

“What do you believe to be the case, then?” The Questioner has come to her aid once more.

I shift my gaze to the men. Interlopers to a one. I want her time. I want her attention fully on me and they intrude. I lick my lips to give my anger time to subside.

“I believe the gods are superficial, good for little, lazy children, if you must know. They are childish and wholly unconcerned with the subtle distinctions to which mortals ascribe.”

“You’re saying they’re immoral.”

I nod. “The gods never cared for morality, Livia. They only ever wanted out of life everything they could squeeze from it in their greedy hands. And if that is not immoral, I do not know what is.

I would not hesitate to say that the gods are not only immoral but they are irreverent as well. Mortals are the only ones who’ve ever really strived to be better and do better. The gods only wish they could care as much as humans do.”

“You sound as if matters, Lukas. As if the stories mean more than to serve as examples for how to live life.”

And on that point, I am silent. What can I say? I cannot deny nor confirm it. I shrug my shoulders and offer her a grin.

She considers me another long moment. I’ve never wanted to hide from anyone’s gaze before but she can see in a way I am not sure I want. And yet, it is all that I want. I drop my gaze before the truth of it, of me, shows.

And, she brushes her fingers across my arm as if to console me. I smile without raising my eyes. She seems to accept it and moves on to another topic.


	6. Repartee

I linger after. I offer to help clean up. My offer is refused, yet she doesn’t make me go. We are alone in this shop. Alone together. Her only safety the dogs that sleep by the door.

“You really looked up my thesis, Lukas?”

“No Livia. There was no need. I do not dissemble. Among your other remarkable talents, you are a published author. You are a specialist in your field. I didn’t have to go looking for you.”

I see her smile behind her hair. She thinks I cannot see, but I do.

“Well, regardless. You made quite an impression on my friends, you know.”

“Because?”

She stops what she is doing and looks to her dogs. They’ve made not a peep about me. She trusts their instincts where I am concerned.

“Because you’re not what we expect. Lukas, you’re, I don’t know what you are.” She seems uncomfortable with the admission that I confuse her.

“Should I take that as a compliment?”

Now her eyes turn to me. She pins me with that stare and I know my irreverent nature will not be tolerated for another moment.

“You should take it how it was meant.”

I want to cross the space between us and grab her to me. I want. Oh how I want. I stand where I am and return her gaze.

“Livia, you’re an intelligent, well-read woman. No man here tonight would deny how beautiful a combination that is. I came here because of you. I stayed because of you. And I apologize if I am not what you expect. You are the only person I’ve ever met who can discuss the very nature of the gods in this manner; and I find it refreshing.” And as arousing as hell, I do not add.

Her accepting nature becomes my salvation once again. She nods and I am off the hook. I must tread lightly. I believe there’s little left that she will accept if I push too much more.

“So, will you come back or did we manage to simultaneously bore and insult you?”

“Insult me? Hardly. Your friends mean well. They care about you very much. As they should.”

“But we bored you, hm?”

I like her. Yes, I do. She’s playing, teasing me with verbal repartee that sets my mind ablaze. This woman keeps me interested effortlessly.

“I am not bored.”

“You’ve some unique ideas, that’s certain.”

“Do I? Hm. I suppose my thoughts are different than your friends. But are they so different than your own, my dear?”

She shrugs. “You read my thesis. You tell me.”

My smile widens. I wrinkle my nose at her. She is adorable. “Over a drink?”

“Are you asking me out, Mr. Farbauson?”

“It’s early yet. One drink won’t make a difference, will it, Miss Anderson?”

“It was Mrs. Anderson.”

“You’re married.”

She shakes her head. “Not anymore. I’ve never gone back to my maiden name. I should, I suppose.”

She’s no longer meeting my gaze. She looks at her fingers as they draw on the countertop.

“What is your maiden name, my dear?”

I approach her slowly, afraid of scaring her off. She’s hurt. Someone hurt her in the past. Would that I could go back and make him pay for it.

“Bergfalk.”

“Mountain falcon,” I say, translating without thought.

She blinks at me. “What?”

“Your name.”

“I shouldn’t be surprised.” She shakes her head and goes back to the study of her fingers.

“A shared history is not so uncommon as all that.”

She laughs a little. “Have we a shared history, Mr. Farbauson?”

I refrain from suggesting that it would suit me just fine we were to being one now.

“Could we go back to first names? Livia is so much more welcoming than Anderson. Although, Bergfalk has it’s merits.”

She lifts her gaze to mine. “Do you always say what you feel, Lukas?”

“If it will get me my way, Livia.”

And to that, she has no reply.

I’ve come to within a few feet of her now. Tantalizing, the smell of wild flowers that wafts from her hair. I want to lift it in my hands and sniff.

“I would like to take you for a drink. May I?”

“I’d feel better here.”

“I could fetch us something.”

“There’s wine in the back.”

I bow. “Lead on, my lady.”

She grins. I hope it is because she finds me charming.

And then, seated across from her, plastic glass of wine in hand, I find myself the recipient of a searching stare that bares my very soul to her.

“Thoughts.” I look at my glass so to avoid her soul searching. “You asked if I believe our thoughts so very different.”

“I did. More to see if you actually read the thesis than anything.”

I smile. “I know that, but thank you for your honesty withme.” I glance at her. “I find it refreshing to talk with you.”

“You must often be bored in your day-to-day existence, then.”

“Give yourself more credit, my dear. Or, at the very least, do not feign humility where your greatest strengths lie. You have an amazing grasp on Ásgarðrand the Norse gods. Almost as if you share some history with them.”

Now it is her turn to study her glass. “I’m merely a humble servant of history.”

“Ah, and a beautiful one at that.”

She smiles at me. “Trying to get your way still, Lukas?”

“Yes. Is it working yet?”

She laughs.


	7. Too Close

“He really said that? He called you beautiful?”

If Matty were the squealing type my ears would burst.

“He did.”

I pick at my cinnamon bun. I’m not terribly hungry but I’ve got to have something to do with my hands while I tell her the story of Lukas.

“And you didn’t kick him out?”

“He seems so harmless. Kind of innocent.” I shake my head. That’s just it. While my mouth speaks of innocence and harmlessness, my mind screams at me that Lukas is anything but. I’m afraid of the attraction I feel. I don’t want a man in my life. Not now.

“Innocent my ass. He sounds like he knows exactly what to say to get to you, Liv. And it’s working. You like him.”

Matty and I are enjoying our usual coffee. The day is overcast and grown cold and so my mastiffs remain outside while we sit inside at a table near the door. They are calmly lying just outside the window. I’ve been looking at them during this entire recitation. They actually like Lukas. And I wonder why.

“He’s a strange man, Matty. He came to the shop to argue the craziest theories of Norse mythology, only to blithely smile at me when we’re done and tell me how wonderful it is to match wits with someone as intelligent as I am.”

“And you find him fascinating, Liv, admit it.”

“I admit nothing.”

She laughs and raises her mug to me. “Will you go when he asks you out?”

“What? No. Of course not.”

“Why not? You’ve said he’s cute. And he certainly has your number. Telling you how intelligent you are is probably the best thing he could have done and you’re denying it and turning red like a girl. Just admit it. You like him.”

“Where could he have found that paper, Matty? It’s out of print.”

I worry about that. Has he been checking up on me? Trying to get on my good side?

“The university? Or maybe he really has read it before. You don’t know every Norse mythology freak in the world, do you?”

“Well no but,”

“Livia. Good morning.”

The verbal equivalent ofsmooth, rich chocolate pours over me. Now I do blush. With a single word, with just saying my name, he has managed to embarrass me.

And Matty sees. She spins on her seat to stare directly up at him. Out of the corner of my eye I can see her lean toward him. She thinks he’s handsome, too.

“You must be Lukas!”

Kill me now. I shake my head.

“I didn’t know you frequent this establishment.”

Frequent this establishment? Is he for real? I look past him. I won’t look at him. I can’t. But I know he’s looking at me. Does he wonder how Matty knows about him? Does he think it gives him an in that I’ve already discussed him with someone?

“We’re here almost every day,” Matty tells him.

I want to hit her. Just to shut her up.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t know it. I live just up the road. I come in for tea on chilly mornings.”

“Would you like to join us?”

Damn her.

“If it isn’t an imposition. I’d be delighted.”

“Well,” I begin.

But she beats me to it. “Of course it isn’t an imposition! Livia was just telling me about last nights mythology meeting.”

Now I want to sink through the floor. God damn her.

He takes a seat and I feel his gaze like fire on my skin. “Good morning, Livia.” He leans forward to peer at me through my hair.

“Lukas.” I look at my mug.

“I’m interrupting.”

“We were just finishing up.” I look at him. I can’t help it.

He looks contrite, his eyes full of shadows. He looks sorry for interrupting my routine with my friend. And he looks lonely. He looks far from home and more lonely than I would have thought anyone capable of looking.

My shoulders drop. The tension and anger I felt at his intrusion melts away as I look at him.

“I thought of something last night. We never had a chance to discuss it. I wanted to see you and run it past you but,” and he shrugs. “I’m interrupting.”

“Tell me something.” I incline my head.

“Of course.”

“Did you come in because my dogs are outside?”

And he beams at me, his sunny smile dispelling the implied insult in an instant. “Am I so shallow as all that?”

“I don’t know, Lukas.”

“Will it make you feel better if I say that I did?” And now he is studying me. He’s waiting for the truth from me.

And the truth is that it might. If he came in only because he’d seen the dogs, well that I could understand. But if he came in because it was part of his routine, too? And I realize I am nodding at him. It’s subtle but he sees.

He nods. “I do have a theory I’d like to share with you sometime, Livia. But now is not the time. I see that. And I apologize for intruding. I hope to see you another time.”

“There’s the bookstore.”

Could someone kill Matty and her perky matchmaking now? It’s getting on my nerves.

He smiles at me. He’s seen my eyes narrow at her words. “I won’t tell.” He whispers to me as he stands.

And as he turns to leave, a piece of paper flutters from his fingers and onto my phone. I palm it away. He smiles once more, bids Matty a good day, and leaves.

He’s barely out the door before she’s gushing.

“Dear God, Livia! He’s handsome! He’s almost god-like. That build! You lied to me, he’s hot. And he likes you. It’s so obvious. He only had eyes for you. Jesus, those eyes. That ass.” She fans herself.

And I watch as he leans over and pets my dogs. They both raise their heads in welcome and he pets them. Jesus.


	8. Loki's Thoughts

I want this woman so much that I can taste it. The longing rests in the back of my mouth, coats my throat with a tingle that will only be removed by her kiss.

I have promised myself that I will not interfere. If I am to have her, I must have her on terms she can long accept. I must win her. Trickery and magic will gain me nothing. But I want.

Would it be fair to wrap her in warmth every time I see her? No. Should she discover I have made a single suggestion to her where I am concerned, she will surely hate me for it. I can tell this about her already.

Oh, but I relish the challenge. I will make her like me as any mortal might. I will win her hand.

Whatever pain is in her past, it has pushed her away from mere acceptance of the first handsome man to grace her with his presence. No, she will not accept just anyone. Will she accept me? Can I woo this woman with my presence? What have I to offer one like her?

I would like to entertain the thought that my being a god is enough. But it will matter less to her than my honesty. And it will matter not at all should I cross her and lie. Or dissemble. Or trick her.

I see many a way in which I could destroy any chance I have. There are as many ways to fail as there are stars in the sky.

Already she’s warned me away. She resented my intrusion on her daily habits. I fear she would change them to avoid me, if I pushed. I am warned. I will not be so foolish again. So impatient. So eager.

That knowledge only serves to make me want her more. Duty be damned. I have been alone too long to throw her away for something as simple as mere duty.

And of Ragnarök? Well, much more must be aligned than my bringing about war. Lífþrasir has yet to make an appearance in her life. He must appear and love her ere the world can end. And Ásgarðrmust fall.

I have no control over Lífþrasir. He will come when he does. But I do have control over how long it takes Miðgarðr to fall into complete war. I have time.


	9. Hints

I would not have been surprised had she shown me the door the next time I went into her shop. Her anger and frustration at me were deserved, admittedly. I was invading her space and it made her uncomfortable. But I couldn’t miss the chance to see her. Just to say hello.

But when the door opens and the little bell jingles, she smiles at me.

“Hi Lukas. Come on in. I’ll be just a minute.”

Well. That wasn’t what I was expecting. I peruse the shelves while she helps her customer. She carries much of the usual drivel and popular culture books that taught me so much about this Miðgarðr in which I now live. But she also carries older books that are not for sale. She carries original manuscripts that are either stellar fakes or originals worth more than her entire shop and the block in which it sits. And she considers her dogs protection enough against theft and more.

Mortals. I will never understand the perverse combination of trust and doubt they hold within their hearts at one and the same time.

I have a book in my hands. She manages to sneak up on me. Me, of all the gods. I’m the trickster, and she gets to my side without my even noticing.

“What are you reading so intently, Lukas?”

I nearly drop the book in my surprise.

I hear her chuckle, hear the smooth whisper of silk as she crosses her arms over her chest.

“Oh ahm,” I open my mouth to speak and laugh instead. “Love poems.” I wag the book at her.

“A romantic?”

“I could be.” I set aside the book and follow her through the store and into the back room. She’s closed for the evening and let me stay. That trust again.

“But are you?”

“Not usually, no.”

“What was your theory that you so wished to discuss the other day?”

She sits at the table and begins to lay out cheese and crackers and some clear liquid in two glasses.

“Um what?” I tear my gaze from her hands. “What?”

“Your theory, Lukas.”

I let out a breath. Why is it so hot in this room?

“Ah, yes. I thought about Loki. We discussed the gods and I made some strong accusations about their beliefs and never brought up Loki.”

She slides one of the plastic cups across the table. I fall into the chair and take it like a life preserver.

“He’s different, you know, from the others,” I say.

“Mmhm. I know.”

I drink and then stifle a shiver. Straight liquor.

“Loki.” She sits back and sips her drink, her gaze steady.

I almost ask her if she’s talking to me and then realize she is ready to discuss the god, the idea of the god. Not me.

She squares her shoulders. “Loki is the only Norse god with true freedom, isn’t he? He’s painted in a very different light than the others. He’s the anthesis of belief. He exists to not only call out man’s disbelief, but give vent to it.”

She’s refilled my glass.

I drain it as if the liquor were water. “He and Óðinn are blood brothers, you know. Loki was often seen as the opposite of Óðinn but they were very similar for all that. Loki embodies duty and respect for order, even when he is the cause of so much strife. Óðinn was the selfish and passionate one, not Loki.

Loki’s nature changed over time, Livia. He was playful and irresponsible at first. But he was used one too many times by his brother, by all of the gods, and he became vengeful, ready to bring about Ragnarök each time the world needed renewal.”

“Loki served his own needs. He was hardly a pillar of virtue and order, Lukas.”

“I believe he served the gods, just in a different way.”

She smiles and offers me another glass of the liquid. Does she want me drunk?

“Well he did,” I insist.

“Maybe. He still did whatever he wanted, though.”

“Oh no. Loki served the gods, Livia. He was the smartest one, you see. He was the one to come up with solutions to their problems.”

“He created many of their problems,” she point out.

I shrug. “Sure he did. Why wouldn’t he? Wouldn’t you if you were stuck in his shoes? Wouldn’t you if everyone around you was too blind to see what to do and you were the only capable one?”

“Loki was the only capable one?”

“Most of the time everyone was interested in sex and fighting. They were gods, Livia. And, did you know that your name comes from Lífþrasir? The mortal bound by fate to repopulate Miðgarðr after Ragnarök?”

She cants her head to the side. “Does it?”

“Líf and Lífþrasir. They’re the two lucky bastards who get that job. Loki? He just gets to set Ragnarök off this time. I mean the next time. Something.”

I push my hair off my flushed cheeks. Powerful stuff, this liquor. A dangerous thing when combined with her seated across from me. My mouth wants to speak all the things in my secret heart to her.

“You don’t drink much, do you?”

“Hel no. Haven’t touched the stuff in more years than I can remember.” And it’s the truth as far as that goes. I don’t need to tell her it’s because I’ve been in exile and confinement for a millennia.

“I thought the stories ended with Loki and Heimdallr mortally wounding one another. Loki would be dead. How could he bring about another Ragnarök?”

“Loki can’t die. He’s a god, for God’s sake.”

I am blathering, and I cannot stop it. “Look. Loki. The prophecy says that Loki will begin Ragnarök on Miðgarðr the next time. That’s his job. He escapes the cruel punishment he served to do it, even.”

“What prophecy? I’ve never heard of any prophecy concerning Loki and Ragnarök on Miðgarðr.”

“Well there is one, Livia. Your name is beautiful.”

I take the bottle, and pour another shot.

“Are you sure you want to do that?”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“Nope.” She holds out her glass and I fill it.

Her face is flushed, too. I smile. I touch her cheek. Beautiful, clear skinned woman. So obviously of Norse stock, perhaps a Dane, I muse.

“Lukas. Focus.” She says it to stop me, but she sounds pleased by my attention, too.

“So Loki, the poor bastard, gets stuck with Ragnarök while Líf gets Lífþrasir later. And why? Where is it written that two mortals should repopulate Miðgarðr? Why not a mortal and a god? Why not, Líf and, oh…Loki…well why not? The waters recede, the world needs a mom and dad, right? Why not Loki and Líf?”

“It’s written in the Eddas, Lukas. You know that. And, Snorri surely took those tales from other, older ones. Anyway, would she want him? It is Loki you’re talking about. Not the most trustworthy, not the most giving of all gods. Self-serving, that’s him,” she proclaims.

“He’s not a bad god. He’s not evil. He’s fulfilling his purpose like everyone else.”

“But Lukas, even the Norse didn’t worship Loki.”

“They did.”

“There’s no evidence. None. We have a few depictions of him, that’s all. No, he fits a role, surely. But it was the gods who served in more traditional male roles who were worshipped.”

“What if there were proof? What if Loki worship wasn’t as fanciful as say Thor worship? What if Loki had a more low key style?” I snicker at my own humor.

“We’d have to think of Loki differently. It would open up entire new avenues of research.”

“Líf would like Loki if she gave him the chance.”

“Lukas, really? Loki bedded a stallion among other stories of his capricious nature. I’m not certain he’s 100% boyfriend material.”

“Yeah well, about that. It wasn’t like it was written. Loki did what he could to ensure that bet was lost, didn’t he? I doubt he thought it would end up with him discovering what that felt like. I doubt he thought the far ahead.”

“He was a god, Lukas. Why not just turn back into himself and let the stallion figure it out? He didn’t have to go that far. Once he’d managed to distract the stallion, he could have let it go. The bet would still be lost, and he’d never have had the need to well,” she gestures. “Find out what that felt like, as you say.”

“Things never had a way of going just right, did they? I mean, even for Óðinn or anyone else. They thought they had all the angles covered, and really they hadn’t thought it through at all. Not all the way through. Loki was better than most, to be sure. But even he made mistake after mistake. That was just another one in a long list, wasn’t it?”

She shakes her head at me, her hair slipping over her shoulders. She downs her shot, makes a face. “You’ve alluded to other writings, other proof. Where is it?”

“There was a prophecy,” I retort. I refill both glasses.

“Who made the prophecy?”

“Mímir probably. He was always spouting off. Anyway, there was a prophecy.”

She nods. “I’d like to see it.”

“I can’t show it to you.” And I can’t. Not without giving away more than I should.

“No. I suppose not.”


	10. Lost Hope

I know she thinks I’ve gone too far. I swallow back bile. How stupid. How stupid of me. I’m as bad as Óðinn. As bad as Þórr. I sought the love of a woman and pushed too far, too fast.

Worse, I’ve let my focus turn from my duty for a woman I am not meant to have.

The bottle is empty between us. I bite my lip as I gaze at it.

“Lukas?”

“Mm?” I turn the cup between my fingers. Anything is better than seeing the disappointment on her face.

“You really believe you’ve found something none of us know?”

“I know I know something you don’t know.”

“And you won’t share it with us. With me?”

Oh. No. She can’t be trying to get it from me that way. “I’m sorry, Livia. I thought I found…” I gesture toward the front of the shop. “You’re at home here, among your books and your friends. This is home for you. And this is the first place I’ve felt at home lately. I suppose I was mistaken.”

“You weren’t wrong.”

I lift my head but I can’t lift my eyes beyond her arms. “No?”

And, I see her relent. It’s in the drop of her shoulders as she leans toward me.

“Look, we’re all passionate about our study. We’re all seeking information that may or may not be there. It’s not unusual, Lukas. Our need to discover even one new idea in ancient texts is normal. Even if you are in the Loki camp.”

She means it as a joke. I want to be lighthearted but it seems too much effort suddenly.

“You might like it in my camp, Livia.”

“You make it sound that way. You make Loki seems almost romantic with your portrayal of him.”

And, I meet her gaze. She thinks I’m crazy, but that’s fine in her mind. It’s a brand of crazy she knows, perhaps even feels herself on occasion.

I stand. I have to go before I make this worse. “Far vel, elska minn.”

She opens her mouth to speak, but then shakes her head and smiles instead.

It lightens my heart, and I am glad. And now I know she understands Old Norse, the language of my first home in Miðgarðr. And, I didn’t get smacked for calling her my love.

But outside her little shop, I despair. It seems I am incapable of being in her presence without making an utter fool of myself. She deserves better from me than that.


	11. Despairing

The day after Lukas’ visit is a difficult one. I earned the hang over. Truly, I did. Lukas must have had a worse one. He drank most of the bottle.

I was late for my morning walk, late for my coffee with Matty. But Thor, Óðinn and Matty are understanding. It’s not often I have an off night.

And, when I do finally show at the coffee shop, Matty instantly sees that something is amiss.

“What’d he do?”

“Nothing.” I sit down and rub my fingers across my eyes. “If you mean Lukas. He did nothing.”

“You’re hung over?” She leans over, sniffs. “Vodka? You don’t smell like a brewery.”

I nod, and then wince. It hurts.

“And you were with Lukas?”

“He came to the store at closing. We talked.”

“Talked? That’s it?”

“Matty, I’m not sure about him. The way he talks, the things he says and believes, I don’t know.”

“Is he weird? Kinked? What?”

That earns her my scowl.

She relents with a grin. “Fine. You wouldn’t know his predilections. What’s bothering you?”

“He drank a lot,”

“Alcoholic?”

I shake my head. If she would top interrupting maybe I could think it through.

“No. Maybe. I don’t know. He got drunk. He started to talk about Loki and this crazy theory that there’s some unknown prophecy that Loki will begin Ragnarök here. On Miðgarðr, he said. I don’t know. He said it like it’s a future event, not the end of the cycle as it’s written now. Nothing I’ve ever seen has led me to believe anything like that.”

“Loki’s the trickster, right?”

I nod. Mythology is my thing, not hers but she’s learned a thing of two over the years.

“Maybe he knows something you don’t.”

“He said as much. But he can’t substantiate it.”

“Or won’t. Maybe he doesn’t trust you enough yet.”

“Or maybe he’s lying. What does trust have to do with it? If there’s some new writing that he knows about, then he ought to be sharing it with the world. Not making up stories to impress me.”

She sits forward to ensure I am paying attention before she replies. “Or, maybe Lukas just wants your attention, Livia. He likes you. It’s obvious. Quit worrying and like him back.”

“That’s just it, I can’t.”

“He’ll come back. Or did you run him off?”

“No. He looked so upset. I told him I understood.”

She puts her hands together. “You do like him. He’ll come back. He keeps coming back, and you’re not exactly falling over him. He’s stubborn enough to come back one more time.”

“I’m not sure I want him to, Matty. I’m not sure I want the attention of a man who lies to me.”

“Are you sure you’re being fair, Liv? Are you sure you’re giving him a fair shot? He’s not The Asshole. He’s not trying to take advantage of you.”

“How do you know?” I rub my forehead. “He might be. He’s too good-looking to be single. He’s too intelligent, and handsome and,”

“You like him. Just see what happens. It’s always a risk, honey. Maybe he’s trying too hard because he likes you.”

“But why lie to me?”

“You don’t know that he is.”

“Quit being reasonable. He made up some story, or got drunk and confused, or whatever. He still said it and it’s still not true. No, unless he can show me his proof of it, I am going to believe he lied.”

“Tell him you want proof then.”

“He said he can’t show it to me.”

She nibbles the edge of a scone a moment. “You believe he’s making it up.”

“I know he is.”

She shrugs. “You said he knows this stuff as well as you do.”

“He seems to,” I allow.

“Then it’s not very likely he would slip up or make it up. He would know you would know it was wrong. Right? Ergo, he’s telling the truth.”

“Ergo nothing. Why are you on his side, anyway? You’re my friend.”

“Because I love you and he interests you. Because I’m tired of you beating yourself up over The Asshole. It’s been long enough. This guy has done something for you. He’s made you want a guy again. He’s got you considering the possibility that not everyone is out to get you. Sort of. He might be exactly what you need and you’re trying to run him off to protect yourself. Just stop it and see what happens. OK?”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Of course it is.”

“No it’s not. I can’t just fall in love with Lukas, Matty. Not until I know what I’m getting myself into.”

“Let him show you.”

“Fine. I’ll talk to him the next time I see him. I’ll find out what he’s up to. OK?”

“It’s a start.”


	12. Hope Returned

But, after our Loki talk, Lukas didn’t come back to the shop. More than a week goes by and I don’t hear from him. By then, I am starting to believe he’s done with me. I should be glad he’s given up. And yet, I can’t forget him. I can’t quit thinking of him.

I can close my eyes and imagine him with a clarity that is frightening. His entire being seems tattooed on the inside of my mind. I find that I’m hoping he will come back.

He left me his phone number. Would he want me to use it? What if I called and he told me off? What if I didn’t call and never found out his story? Am I willing to never know? Am I willing to be content with only half what he must be?

Matty would have. Matty would have called him straight up and asked him out. But, I’m not Matty. My world is far more orderly than that. Even if it doesn’t always feel that way to me anymore.

“Call him or not?” I ask the dogs.

They snort and snore at me. They don’t care what I do about Lukas. They’re content to sleep in the sun by the front door.

I dial the number twice. I turn off the phone before it rings both times. He knows where I am. He knows how to reach me if he wants to.

But maybe he feels stupid after our talk. Maybe he’s embarrassed. He got drunk and maybe that bothered him.

By late afternoon, I have determined to call him. I’ve got the phone in hand when the door opens, the little bell jingles, and there he stands.

I am staring at him when he looks up. His smile is a little unsure when he sees me, but then the uncertainty melts away when he sees me staring.

I’ve never seen him in a suit. I’ve grown used to the idea that he is a jeans and combat boots kind of guy. This. This is too much.

Gone is the somewhat careless professor look. This man oozes confidence and sex appeal in equal measure. This man was born to wear a suit. Or a crown. Or perhaps stand among the gods I’ve spent my life trying to unravel.

The suit is tailored to his body, and it looks amazing. It leaves nothing, and everything, to the imagination. He paired it with a white shirt that clings to him, outlining the narrow waist, the sculpted abs.The tie picks up the color of his eyes. It is loose, the top button of his dress shirt undone. His posture, the outfit, the way he takes up the space, all scream that he is not someone to be trifled with, and I’ve been doing just that.

He runs a hand through his hair, and lifts one eyebrow at me.A single, stray lock falls loose from the wave of dark to curl across his forehead.

“Hi Livia.”

His voice is pitched deep, and he speaks softly, but he might as well have yelled for the way it sinks into me. Warmth spreads through me, and I realize I missed him more than I care to admit.

“Lukas?” I am awed by this change in him. The phone slips from my fingers to land with a clunk on the counter.

And he smiles once more. He looks pleased by my reaction. He straightens the jacket, preens a bit.

“Is it OK if I come in?”

I don’t point out that he is in, and it’s a public place anyway. He’s asking my permission. He’s trying a new tactic.

“How are you? I haven’t seen you in a few days,” I say, trying for a nonchalance I don’t feel. My heart has leapt into my throat at his appearance and I imagine I’ve started to blush.

“I’ve been busy. I just got home, as a matter of fact. Haven’t even been there yet. I thought I’d see if you would like to grab a drink with me.”

“Just got home,” I repeat the phrase softly. He looks like he’s been to a wedding, or a funeral.

“I’ve been away for work,” he supplies.

“What do you do?” I whisper. My hands, I realize, have been rubbing together. I squeeze my fingers and force them to drop to the cash register.

Those deep eyes crinkle at the edges. “I work in government relations mostly. I deal in what you might call bad faith situations.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’ll tell you all about it if you join me for a drink. Yes?”


	13. Runes and Readings

We end up in a funky little bar called The People’s Republik. The bombs and communist propaganda posters hanging from the walls make a strange backdrop to his smooth, sophisticated look. And yet, somehow, it suits him, too.

He orders a whiskey on the rocks and then looks at me with a lift to his brows. I settle for a beer. Too many bad ideas get thrown about when liquor is involved.

We sit near the back at a tiny high top table. Perched on the red stools, we’re near equal in height, though his feet easily touch the floor and mine rest on the rung, the heels of my boots hung over for support.

He grins at me and I see a hint of the unsure guy in it. How can he be so confident and yet so uncertain all at once? Do I do that to him? Or does his job force him to utilize a confidence that’s unnatural to his being?

He sips his drink and settles into what I recognize as “lecture mode.” It’s a look common to men who know their topic well and are about to embark on a very long discussion of it.

“Bad faith situations, you said. What’s that? Stuff like hostage scenarios?” I prompt him with questions or I might be here all night.

“Pick any recent development and I’ve likely been involved.” He shakes his head. “Ahm, more like government negotiations. I don’t deal in hostages.”

“Negotiations in what? Trade?” I ignore the idea that he has just implied hostages are too much trouble. Trade seems safer.

He licks his lips and, just for a moment, I see predatory pleasure cross his features. Whatever he does, he enjoys it. A lot. It’s chilling.

“Do you really want to hear about it?” His voice is quiet, his gaze focused so fully on me that I am left to wonder what he wants of me. Or what he can see.

And suddenly, I really _don’t_ want to hear it. He looks capable of anything. I imagine there’s a message in his choice of venue; imagine weapons and destruction are his for negotiation, when he chooses to negotiate at all. I imagine that he trades in violence and death. No need for hostages when all out war is so much more profitable.

His eyes flash, the pupils dilating momentarily before he turns his attention to his drink once more. “It’s rather boring,” he says. But he can’t look at me.

I take his hands, sure they will be icy cold but they are not. They are warm and soft. I feel a perverse need to rescue this moment before it gets further out of control. Before he slips away from me. Because I’m sure that’s what’s happening. Whatever he is, whatever he does, means more to him. I’m afraid; of him, of what he might be, of what he might mean to me, of losing him before I even take a chance.

And in touching him, I bring his focus back. He leans forward, watching as I stroke his fingers.

“You have strong hands, long and finely tapered. You should play the piano.”

He grins at me. “I’ve never been musically inclined, though I do like it.”

“They say that long fingers indicate a desire for domination and power and a need to be controlling.”

“And you believe that, do you?” He turns his hands in mine.“You believe it of me? You believe in palmistry?” He looks amused but curious, too.

I shrug, not even sure where the words came from. It’s not what I meant to say, not what I meant at all. Disturbed by my own turn toward such a dark place, I let go of him.

“I would have imagined you more a rune reader than a palm reader.”

I smile. “I’m not much for a belief in fortune telling at all. But runes?”

“Of course.” He lays a velvet bag on the table between us. “Or does your interest in Nordic mythology not extend to the oracles that were so terribly important to them in their time?”

“You can read them?” I’m surprised.

“Even gods believe in oracles, Livia.” He opens the bag and then casts the runes, the motions flowing together so it seems all one smooth flick of his wrist. “But tell me, do you?” His gaze lifts from where the runes have fallen.

I see real curiosity in his eyes, and a challenge too. I look at the runes. “Nine. You cast nine, Lukas.”

“Nine has always been a magical number. Shall I read them to you?” He touches the center, upright rune. “Thurisaz.”

“Giants,” I translate.

His eyes widen as his finger moves to the next. Is he surprised that I know?

“Ansuz,” he proclaims in a soft voice.

“Óðinn.”

He chuckles. “Reversed like this it means manipulation and delusion. Reversed like this it also stands for Loki.”

He touches the next. “Hagalaz lying in opposition in this way means catastrophe, pain, suffering, and loss.”

“And Nauthiz?” I murmur.

He is casting a spell over me. I’ve never found any oracle to be more than a parlor game, until now. His deep voice, the unusual setting, and his calm control of the situation have all made me a believer in an instant.

“Restriction or recognition of one’s fate. Followed by Isa means frustration and challenges.”

He stares at the last two runes, flips them over again and again.

“And Algiz, Lukas?” I prompt him. He’s been silent too long.

“Protection. The protective urge. Perhaps a connection with the gods.” He smiles. “Tiwaz could be self-sacrifice. It is victory in competition. Berkano is a love affair and arousal. And paired with Lugaz probably means fertility or birth.”

He finishes his recitation and falls silent, staring at the runes between us.

“What were you thinking when you cast the runes, Lukas?”

He meets my gaze over the them. He takes my hands in his.

“Only that it seems strange you would understand palmistry and not the runes.”

He traces a finger across my palm. I shiver. The feeling is exquisite and lingers even after his fingers are gone.

“And as you do, tell me what does all of that means when put together, will you?”

His gaze takes in the runes before he sweeps them into the bag once more.

“If a person were to believe in divinity by oracles, I suppose they would take it to mean nothing good is about to happen. The one for whom this divination was cast is in danger of being manipulated by the gods, and it could end in catastrophe. He’s frustrated with his lot in life and wishes only to protect that which is important over all else to him. He’s fallen in love you see and will sacrifice himself for her, to have her love him even a little, even for a little while. He wants her so much.” He lifts his gaze to mine and tries a smile. “But it’s only runes, Livia.” He drains his drink.

The spell broken, I settle back to gaze at him over the rim of my glass before saluting him with it. “It’s only runes, Lukas.” Runes that are, I notice, gone again. A neat trick that.


	14. Líf

I stand before the throne, my mortal clothing exchanged for the garb of a god. I wonder, would Livia find this as attractive as she did the suit I wore earlier? Would something as simple evoke in her the same ardor she felt at our last meeting? Or would she find me merely ridiculous? Lukas playing at the divine?

I conjure the image of her in my mind. There was a moment where she wanted me, a moment where she entertained the idea of our union. I revel in it. I crave it.

“Lust will be your undoing, Loki.”

I turn my attention back to Ásgarðr , back to the now. I’m actually being taken to task for what I’ve done. I frown at the intrusion on my little fantasy.

“Lust? You speak to me of lust, Óðinn? How then, am I so very different than you? Can I not enjoy some of the finer pleasures so long denied me in my prison? Can I not live before we all must die?” As an impassioned plea, I think it works.

“She is not meant for you.” Óðinn is not so easily impressed, it seems.

“And, we are not meant for that world.” I pace.“I will have her, regardless what you say, brother.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He stretches, stands in all his glory and light. He strokes his beard and grins at me.

“No.” I shake my head. “No, no, no. Stay away.”

“Not so certain? Not so sure of her yet, are you? Is she afraid of the mighty Loki?” He chuckles. “Or perhaps her tastes are of a more refined nature.”

“Óðinn.”

“Do your duty, Loki. You have a task on Miðgarðr and it is not to garner favor with Líf. No, yours is a more pressing task, my brother. Yours is more glorious is it not? Favor momentarily found with her will only continue to turn your head from the task at hand. Now do your duty.”

“I am tired! I am tired of my part in all of this, Óðinn. I want to rest in the arms of a woman. I want what has so long been denied me.”

“I care not for what you want. The prophecies care not for what Loki wants. Your role is not as lover, it is catalyst, it is as destroyer.”

“And if I refuse?”

“I will take her. Trust me when I say to you that I will have her if you do not do your duty.” He steps to me, coming off the dais in a moment. “Perhaps that is what you need to put your feet back on your proper path, brother.”

I take a deep breath. Finesse is needed here, not anger. “You admit she is Líf incarnate? It will be Livia who survives Ragnarök?”

He shrugs. “What of it?”

“Then she is no more meant for you than for me. Is that not true?”

He actually smiles at me. “Until Lífþrasir comes, she is up for grabs.”

I bite back my retort, swallow my anger. “You make her sound like the prize in an entertainment, Óðinn.”

“Isn’t she? Is this not some game you play?”

My palms itch to smack him. My grimace gives me away, I’m sure.

He sneers. “Regretting your blood oath to me, Loki? Regretting our closeness of so long ago?” He turns away. “Go. Do your duty.”

“And then what? You command it of me and then what? She is alone. The cycle will remain incomplete should Ragnarök come before Lífþrasir finds her.”

But he has no reply. Dismissed, I am almost to the door before he speaks again.

“And Loki, I will be watching.”


	15. Thor

Do my duty. As if anyone of Ásgarðrhas ever done their duty, save me. No. It is too much to ask that I turn away from Livia for this. By doing my duty I will destroy all she holds dear. I will destroy her.

My walk is brisk. I avoid the mortals in my path, but only just. My mind whirls with possibilities and schemes. She has no other lovers of which I am aware. She is single, without attachment. Lífþrasir has not yet made his appearance. It means I have some amount of time to work with.

Surprise makes me miss my next step. Óðinn and Thor are tied outside the shop. The dogs. They’re never outside without her. What is this?

I stop outside the window to see if all is well. Is she in trouble? Is something terribly wrong here?

What I see first drains the blood from my face and then flushes my cheeks. Þórr. That bastard. It can only be him. Despite the mortal clothing, he looks like a god. His long hair shines in the light reflected from passing cars. My nails bite into my palms until they bleed.

Is this a threat from Óðinn? Would he push me aside so readily? Does he believe I will go back to my duty because of some interloper?

The dogs lift their snouts to me and whine and then look at the door once more. So they don’t like him, hm? It crosses my mind to let them into the shop but she would likely be angry were I to do it. The doggy Thor growls low in his throat. I pat his head.

“Me too, buddy. Me too.”

Satisfied, he licks my fingers. But what am I to do? The Ásgarðrian Þórr is only there for one thing. Livia. My Livia.

She appears from somewhere further in the store. I see she has a book on Norse mythology. Seriously? As if it matters to him at all.

I growl and the dogs look up at me, as does a passer-by. I can’t help it. My face twists and it is everything I can manage not to shed my mortal clothing for armor. I am quite prepared to battle him here and now, and likely ruin any chance I have with her. I suspect battle is not her forte.

But then she looks up. She sees me. Oh fuck. And a look crosses her face - one of amusement and fondness, could it be fondness? I bite my lip and look back at her, utterly caught out in my jealousy. And amusement turns to knowing and she lifts one delicate eyebrow at me before inclining her head.

I rub my face roughly and go in. I’ve been invited after all.

“Lukas.”

“Livia.”

Þórr turns at the sound of my voice. His surprise at my arrival makes me glad.

“Are you about ready?” I say it without thought, though it has only just occurred to me.

She hesitates but then she grins at me and nods. “Just finishing up. Where are you taking me?”

“Anywhere your heart desires, elska minn. Name it and it is yours.”

Thor frowns at me. “Elska minn?” He mouths.

I smirk and give her a friendly squeeze as she passes on her way to the other side of the counter.

I receive a warning look from over her shoulder and I back off. No sense taking things too far.

“Do you think you’ll want the book, Nick?”

He’s still staring at me. Dumb ass has forgotten his name. I clear my throat and give him an expectant look.

“Hm? Oh. Yes. Ah, you mentioned a class or gathering or something,”

“Myth meeting,” I supply in a cheerful tone. I enjoy watching him fail dismally to secure her attention.

“Myth meeting,” he says in a somewhat reduced voice.

Oh I love this. I would gleefully twirl in jubilation but I know that would get me in trouble.

He’s not smart enough to figure women out. At least, not this woman. Bludgeon them with god-like looks and power, that’s more the style of Þórr and Óðinn. But, I am beginning to understand. And, I will work at it until I have it all figured out.

He moves closer to me while she rings up his purchase.

“Haven’t you work to do, uncle?”

We stand close in height and I look him in the eye. “Not today, Nick. I’ve got plans for lunch.”

“Lunch plans.” He gestures at her. “Are you sure?”

I nod, my smile can get no wider. “Better luck next time,” I say in an undertone.

She tells him how much the book costs and he pulls some money out of his pocket. He hands it to her without so much as looking at her. She glances up at me, curious. I shrug.

“Lukas, I’ve got to run to the back for a minute. Can you wait for me?”

“Sure. I’ll keep the dogs company.” And, feeling better than I have all day, I leave the store.

I know Þórr. He’s going to use the time alone with her to his advantage, if he can. I sit on the stoop and wait. The doggy duo plant their heads in my lap and I spend the time scratching behind their ears. Who cares about a little drool?

Then Þórr walks by. He tips me a nod and a wink and saunters off into the afternoon.

A moment later, Livia appears.

“Feel better now?”

I feign innocence. “About what?”

She laughs. “I’m going to put the dogs in. Come up with a better answer while I’m gone, will you?”

I wait for her, still grinning at my good fortune.

“Well?”

I wrap my arm through hers. “That is my nephew.”

“What? Nick? Your nephew?”

“You don’t have to be quite so surprised. I know he’s the good-looking sort.”

She ignores it. And I decide that I’d rather receive a compliment that she means anyway.

“He really is my nephew. More or less. His father and I have been friends since, well forever. When we were younger we made a pact, sort of a blood brother thing. We’ve considered one another brothers since. His family practically fostered me.”

“Lukas.”

“What?” I’m stumped. She doesn’t believe me.

“You’re not old enough to be his uncle. Are you?”

“My brother started _really_ early.” I say, truthfully.

She looks me up and down and I know she’s thinking I’m not old enough, he’s not young enough. Something.

“Mmhm.”

“Look. There’s no reason for me to lie about Nick. Is there?”

She shakes her head but she’s not angry, I can see that.

“What were you doing out on the street?”

“Óðinn and Thor were tied up outside. I was worried something might be wrong. I stopped to check before coming in.”

“And you didn’t come in when you saw your nephew inside?”

Crap. Walked right into that one. “I thought you might be busy.”

She manages to keep a straight face for another ten feet, then I hear her being to giggle. “It was pretty obvious what you thought.”

I offer her an embarrassed grin. “Was it?”

She just shakes her head and drags me across the street. “Food truck.”

“Food truck?”

“Best dogs in town.”

She means it. Five minutes later, I find myself trying not to wear my lunch while simultaneously watching her eat hers. Food is not supposed to be that sexy outside of Ásgarðr .


	16. Dance of desire

Sweet cream ice cream and a coffee. I curl onto the sofa with it. I’ve earned a treat after the crazy week I’ve endured. A night in with the television, the treat, and my own company sounds fine right about now.

The phone chirps. I lift it to see what Matty has to say. She’s the only one who texts me at 8:00 on a Friday night.

‘There’s a DJ spinning tonight and I thought you might like to come out with me. Maybe. If you’re not busy. I’ve left your name at the door if you decide it sounds like fun. I hope to see you there.’

Lukas. I stare at it. A nightclub? Seriously? Is this yet another side of the man?

He’s named a club popular with the MIT crowd. Apparently, this _is_ another side to the man. I’m intrigued. But is it enough to get me out of my sweats and back into jeans?

I grin at the dogs.

My Über refuses to drop me in front of the club, so I walk the block. The place is crowded, a line wrapping to the next corner.

True to his word, I am on the list and am allowed to pass into the press.

The swirling noise and light engulfs me as soon as I enter the club. I glance around and see Lukas near the bar. He’s easy to spot. He towers over most of the club goers and, with the curls that frame his face and fall down his neck, he’s striking, even from the back. 

I make my way over, expecting to surprise him. He turns just before I reach him and he smiles at me.

“Livia! You came. I wondered. I thought perhaps you had other plans. I’m glad you didn’t, or if you did that you chose me.” And he envelopes me in a hug.

He’s warm beneath the faded, old sweat jacket he wears, his T-shirt already molded to him. He draws me closer, pressing my cheek to his chest, his fingers slipping beneath my hair to caress the back of my neck.

His shirt is soft against me, where my head rests. It smells of him; of whatever cologne he wears and the subtle scent of his skin, his sweat.

I return the hug, my arms encircling his waist.

“I’m really glad you came,” he murmurs into my hair.

Then, he’s letting me go only to drop one arm around my shoulders to hold me close to his side. I’m introduced to the people he’s been chatting with. I never really get their names before he’s leading me away from them, fresh beers in our hands.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I just want to monopolize your time. Is that all right?” He laughs. He knows it is.

I smile. It’s impossible not to smile at him when he looks so incredibly devious and innocent at the same time. This is the confident, self-assured, and smooth man from before. This, I realize, is likely who he really is. The unsure guy who comes to my shop to chat is meant to disarm me.

I should be angry but I’m not. I’m flattered he tries so hard to garner my attention.

“Do you dance?”

His smile grows. “Are you asking to dance with me, Livia?”

“I am.”

“Then I most certainly do dance, my dear.”

He plucks the beer from my fingers and sets both aside. Here, near the back wall, there’s some small amount of space for us.

Oh yes. He can dance. His entire body feels the music. One of natures natural born dancers, this man. That devious grin firmly in place, he takes me by the hands and pulls me into the dance with him.

If this is dancing, what is making-love with him like? Sensual, sexual, he draws me closer so that our bodies touch, our hips colliding more often than is totally necessary. I want to wrap my hands around his hips and let him grind against me. Snake hips, my mind insists. It’s an apt description of the way he moves.


	17. Prayer to a god

It crosses my mind to kiss her, nibble those delectable lips, taste her mouth. I refrain, though not without difficulty. I’ve got to get some control back.

It never occurred to me that here, in a loud, sweaty nightclub, I would find the hidden side of her. Here is the sensual woman usually kept concealed beneath layers of self-control and self-awareness. I like this. This is who should should always be. And somewhere, deep inside, I believe she is.

She’s got drinks for us and she turns to face me. My smile grows. Oh, to stretch her out across the bar and kiss her until she gives in to me. She’s already arched beautifully, the wood of the bar in the small of her back, my body inches from hers.

She straightens a little, her cheek coming to rest against mine. “Lukas, you’ll have to move,” she tells me.

Her breath is hot against my ear. My mouth opens but no words issue forth. I raise one hand to the middle of her back and lift her away from the bar. She is close enough now to kiss.

She puts one of the ice cold beers to my neck and I gasp aloud, my gaze turning to hers.

She inclines her head. “Is there anywhere to sit?”

I have no idea. I take her hand and we move away from the bar once more.

Luck is on my side. There are arm chairs and benches scattered in corners and small spaces. We find one and settle onto it together.

“You like to dance.”

I nod. “With you anyway.”

She grins at me and drinks her beer.

“You’re an amazing dancer.”

“Thanks.”

I brush hair from her cheek. “No, thank you for coming here with me tonight. Thank you for dancing with me.”

And my luck holds. The DJ starts a new track and I see it come over her. A song she likes. Really likes. There’s no room to stand, we’re stuck where we are or we have to fight to get up. And she chooses to remain. Never one to miss an opportunity, I slide my legs around her hips so she’s chair dancing directly in front of me.

I don’t even have to scoot forward, her own motion takes care of it and she’s in my arms, pressed to me again. I laugh and drop one hand to her waist and then around it to hold her. She doesn’t move away. Oh no. She moves closer and I am suddenly a part of her dance once more.

Sweet bliss. I am in paradise. I don’t care who sees. I lift her and sit her on my lap. She hesitates at that, at the proximity, at the possibility, but the music carries her with it and I am breathless and lost in the feeling. Her head falls back to my shoulder and I kiss her neck, my mouth open to taste her. She makes a noise and slides one hand into the back of my hair.

Freyja, please. If I’ve ever meant anything to you, let me have this woman. Please, let me have this woman. I will not keep her from Lífþrasi when his time arrives, but for now, please. Just this. Just her.


	18. Sense and sensuality

When Lukas kisses me, I nearly fall off him. I wrap my fingers into his hair to hold on. I feel him whispering against my neck, the sensation both tickling and exciting at once. I don’t know what he says. It’s a litany and I wonder if he’s praying. Does he pray for me to stop or to continue?

I feel like a teenager here with him. I feel like I did when I was fourteen years old sitting in the back seat of my prom dates father’s car. I remember my boyfriend putting my hand in his trousers so I could stroke him. And I remember him having an orgasm while his father drove us to dinner. This feels just like that. I feel naughty knowing the effect I have on Lukas, knowing what dancing is doing to him.

But it’s exciting too. It’s been years since I’ve been out dancing, years since I’ve let go this way. And it’s been years since I’ve let a man make me feel this way. I feel alive. And the desire he feels transfers to me, we share it. I want him.

He kisses once more and I shiver, my fingers reflexively tightening in his hair. He moans aloud. I hear it. I feel it. It is the sexiest sound I’ve ever experienced. His entire body moans, the sound deep in his chest, reverberating through me and making me want to take him home now.

Is that how this night will end? Am I ready for this? For him?

His hands are spread on my belly, his strong fingers stroking the material beneath them, sending a message straight into me, bypassing my brain and serving only the longing he’s stoked between my thighs. I wonder what it would be like to turn and feel him hard against that need.

Then, his hands slide up my arms, drawing them back, I stretch further against him. The third kiss lingers against my fevered skin, his mouth open to allow him to tongue the pulse beneath his lips. Excruciating yearning sweeps through me, leaving me weak against him. It’s not dancing anymore, it’s having him. He moves with me and it’s all I can feel. I want him. I want this.

My eyes shut and my focus becomes the feel of his mouth on me. I roll my head and am rewarded when he moves his ministrations up my neck to nuzzle behind my ear. My dance has lost rhythm but it doesn’t matter. He’s weaving a spell over me as surely as with the runes. And I can only accept it and let the feeling wash me away.

He brings one arm across my chest, his fingers stroking the hollow of my collar bone now. He nibbles the soft skin beneath my ear and, breathless and shaky, I moan.

Behind my closed eyes, images of smooth skin, entwined limbs, him. Us. My imagination puts us in bed together, making-love as if only we two remain in the world. In my mind, he murmurs words I cannot understand but I know he speaks of love and longing and lust. In my mind, everything I want of him is offered and accepted. Gladly.

Gradually, I realize he’s grown calm beneath me. His open mouth is still against my skin but he no longer kisses. And we’re in a club. My God. The weight of the fantasy falls away and I’m exhausted. I don’t know how long I’ve been lost in this. How long have I been stretched across him like this? What’s happening to me?

I glance at him to find he looks as done up as I feel. His eyes are solemn, his face slack as if the need were too great to bear further and he, too, had given in to this.

He blinks as if waking from a dream and his lips twitch with the barest smile. He struggles to swallow and it’s then that I know he felt all I felt.

I want to curl up and sleep, safe against his chest, safe in his arms. But we’re in the nightclub full of people. And this is too soon. Too much, too soon.

He breathes out a sigh and his eyes clear.

“I’m sorry.” He mouths the words to me.

I put my forehead to his. Whatever happened is gone and we’re wrung out, strung out, and exhausted. He rubs his head to mine.

Outside the club, he puts me in a cab.

“How will you get home?”

“Walk.”

I slide over and pat the seat next to me. “Share?”

He smiles but shakes his head. “I need to walk.”

I understand. The feel of him is still raw, still in my mind and in my soul. He must feel at least some of it, to judge by the tired look in his eyes.

“Goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight, Livia.”


	19. Promise

Walk. I’ll never walk off the feel of her. But the cold will take away the hunger.

“Loki.”

I continue to walk, shoving my hands into my pockets before they can ball into fists.

He falls into step with me.

“Go away.”

“What was that, Loki? Begging Freyja? Pleading your case to the goddess of love? You must be mad to ask her to use her seiðr to reweave your destiny to include this woman. Did you think I would not know of it? Do you think Freyja so easily charmed by you? By your weakness for the mortal?”

I stop walking. We’re alone on this late night street. Alone in Miðgarðr. I turn to him, resist the urge to call forth armor and sword. I shake myself to force it back.

“The mortal? Líf, Óðinn? That mortal? She has a name.” I sneer. “She is chosen among them all. She is more than a mortal.”

“And yet, not a goddess.”

“So what?”

“Your fascination with her has drawn your attention from your duty, Loki.”

“My duty.” My teeth click together over the word. “What duty? Bring about Ragnarök and destroy the nine realms? I’m not needed to do that, Óðinn. Oh no. By all that is sacred, spend an hour here, spend a day. Discover for yourself how utterly useless I am when they are so capable of infinite evil against one another. Let me live.”

“It is your role. You are meant to do this, Loki. And you shall.”

“Give her to me.”

“No.”

I hiss a breath, words fail me.

He smirks. “Did Freyja’s thread addle you?”

His words drop into the pit of my stomach. The truth of it twists like serpents. I knew it. The bastard. She was used. They used Livia just to get to me.

Drop a single thread into the weave of destiny and anything is possible. Drop only a single thread and fantasy becomes reality.

Poor Livia. She won’t know what they did to us. She won’t realize it for what it was. And, I didn’t mean for it to happen. Not like that. Not without her consent, without even her knowledge. No.

“Did she enjoy it, Loki? Did she like lying with a god? Oh but she doesn’t know, does she?” He laughs.

I punch him. “Leave Livia alone.”

He rubs his jaw. “Careful, or I will see you sent away.”

“And to what end? You need me, Óðinn. You said it yourself.”

He shrugs it off. “You’ve had what you wanted. Fulfill your destiny. Bring about Ragnarök.”

“And if I refuse?”

He smiles. “She’s still here.”

I shake my head. “Leave her alone.”

“She’s had one god. What’s one more?”

He would so callously use her in that way. He used her to get to me. Used what I want against me. Unbidden, my armor and sword appear.

He too, is dressed for battle. “I will have her, Loki. And she will come willingly. Freyja need not weave that reality for me.”

He taunts. I know it, but I am incapable of ignoring it. I lash out and strike him once more. “No.” I am growling, my anger makes me reckless.

He wipes blood from his lip. “Use your anger to complete your role. You have no quarrel with me.”

“My only quarrel is with you.” I shove him. “You used her. You set me up and you used her. She deserved none of that.”

He laughs as he closes the distance between us. “Complete this, Loki. Fulfill your destiny and I will leave your mortal alone. Try me and she is mine. Understand?”

Before I can lift my sword, he swings.

“Stop thinking with your emotions and use the brain you’re so proud of.”

I lick my lip and taste the blood, feel the cut where the hilt of his sword has split me open. I put my hands to the cold pavement. He knocked me on my ass with a half-hearted attempt. Lesson learned, I nod. What choice do I have? He is Óðinn. I drop my gaze.

“Good.”

Like that, he’s gone. I struggle from the ground. My jeans are soaked from my landing in the slush. I wipe blood from my face, staining my sleeve.

It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. I’ve lost.

I walk the rest of the way to the apartment in silence.


	20. Love lost

I beat Matty to the coffee shop. My sleep has been terrible. I can’t escape the feeling that things are not what they seem with Lukas. I can’t escape the feeling that things are not right. I can’t stop thinking about him.

“Hey, you look like shit.”

I look up. Matty is chipper this morning.

“I didn’t get much sleep,” I admit.

She sits down next to me. “Lukas?”

“No. Bad dreams mostly.” I shrug.

“Are you sleeping at all?” She eyes me with a critical look.

I know I’ve got circles beneath my eyes. I am barely making it through the routine of the day. “Some.”

“How much?”

“Couple hours, I guess.”

She shakes her head and snatches the coffee from my hand. “Stop that for one thing. Drink herbal tea, drink water. Stop obsessing over him.”

“I haven’t heard from him, Matty.”

“Call him then.”

“What if he decided to move on?”

“Did something happen with you two?”

“I told you. We went to a club, went dancing.”

“Fine.”

I know she thinks I’m keeping something from her. I am. I can’t bring myself to tell her about that night in more than the most general of terms.

“You’ll never know what happened if you don’t call him.”

I nod. But I know I’m not going to call him.

“How are things at the store?”

“Good. Busy.”

“Good. Busy,” she parrots. “You sound like you’re in love. Are you in love with Lukas? Is that what’s wrong?”

“I’m just tired.”

She hands me back my coffee. “You need it.”


	21. Past Hope

I have my driver take me past the bookshop. I just want a glimpse of her. I just want to see her and make sure she’s all right. But it’s closed. I can see, even from the car, that she’s not there. She’s late opening.

Then I catch a glimpse of her dogs. She’s behind them, of course. I put my hand to the glass. Óðinn’s threat keeps me from this, from her. I growl. I will not be the cause of her destruction at his hands.

And she looks exhausted. It’s because of me. I’ve felt her thinking of me in the night. I know she doesn’t rest. I’ve hurt her more than anyone ever has.

One small message won’t be bad. I won’t talk to her. I won’t even let her see me. Just one message so she knows I didn’t ditch her, so she knows my thoughts are all of her, too.

What do I say? I wipe my eyes absently, my gaze on her. I see her lift the phone to read the text.

She stops walking and nearly gets bowled over by passers by. Her dogs take a stand on either side of her. Good dogs, those.

Then she rubs her eyes with her sleeve.

Perhaps I’ve brought her some peace, some measure of calm. At least she knows it is not my choice to remain absent. It is my duty.

I shift my focus back to the many tasks clamoring for my attention. The media seem intent on ignoring the tragedies surrounding them lately. I step up the world wide tension. Local violence erupts in already warring gang factions. This is what I am meant to be.

I look at the store a final time. She’ll forget me. There will be another man one day soon. Lífþrasir will come for her.

I wipe my eyes, tap on the glass separating me from the driver.

I take a final look as we pull away from the curb. Her first customer is already going in.


	22. Óðinn

I dial Matty as I open the store.

“He’s working.”

“Who? Lukas?” She sounds distracted.

“He sent me a text. He’s working and is away. He misses me.”

“Oh thank God. I was worried I was going to have to steal your phone and call him myself.”

“I might have let you.”

She laughs. “Did you reply?”

“Not yet. What should I say?”

“Tell him how you feel, Liv.”

I smile. How I feel is the last thing I’m going to tell him. But, it’s OK. I know why he’s been missing. I know it isn’t me.

“I gotta go. I’ll see you tomorrow, ‘K?”

“Yeah. I’ve got a customer anyway. I’ll talk to you soon.”

I hang up and nod to the gentleman standing by the counter.

“I was wondering if you might be able to help me.”

I smile at him. “What are you looking for?”

Expansive. The word crosses my mind as I look at him. He’s striking, with a smile that angels could be proud of. Bedroom eyes a startling shade of blue and hair that has to be naturally blond round out his appearance. His presence fills the shop. I immediately think of Matty and wonder if this man is single. No ring.

“I was searching for a gift for a friend of mine. He’s quite into mythology.”

“OK. Greek? Roman?”

“Norse.”

I lift one eyebrow. “Norse?” I repeat it as if I didn’t hear right. Maybe I didn’t.

His smile grows, softening his eyes. “Yes. It’s a passion of his.”

“It seems Boston is full of mythology geeks lately,” I murmur.

“I suppose that could be true.”

I gesture. “Come on. I’ll show you what I have in the way of books on Norse mythology.” I start toward the shelves. “Is he a student? A fan of myth in popular culture? Maybe a die hard scholar?”

Lukas. God, I miss him and his outrageous theories. I wonder if he will come to the next meeting. Maybe. If he’s back by then.

“He fancies himself something of an expert, I suppose.”

I glance at him. It’s the tone of voice. Sarcasm drips off his tongue like poison.

“Then perhaps he’d like to get his own book?”

It’s gone. Whatever he was feeling is gone. He smiles at me again.

I try to shrug it off. “These shelves deal primarily with Norse myth. Let me know if you need more help.”

I return to the front of the shop. I can see him from here. The dogs are up here. I feel safer. Odd that. I must be overly tired. I’m not usually worried about customers.

He spends a while looking at the books. He opens a few and flips through the pages. He looks amused. I look at my phone while surreptitiously watching him.

He’s far taller than average, like Lukas. And he reminds me of the guy that hit on me a couple of weeks ago. Nick, that was his name. They share the same blond hair and blue eyes, the same build. On this man, it seems easy. He’s comfortable in his skin, used to women fawning over him, I imagine.

I spare a glance at his backside. His broad shoulders taper to a tight waist and ass. Good Lord, I’m turning into Matty. I tear my gaze away from his assets.

I find my eyes turning to him again and again. He is very good-looking, there’s no denying it.

He starts toward the counter and I force my gaze back to the phone.

“This one.”

“Great.” I take the book from him.

“I was wondering, are you free for a drink sometime?”

I stammer. “Wh-ah, I suppose.”

“My name is Mark.”

“Livia.”

His hand is huge, my fingers feel lost in it. “A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”

I blink at him. Is this my new normal? Am I cursed with gorgeous men hitting on me now? Maybe the dry spell I imposed on myself is over.

He stares at me and I stare back. One date is OK. Just to fill the time. I could stare at him all day. His gaze is hypnotic. And he smells wonderful. I shake my head to clear it.


	23. The contest

I text her that evening. I will not call. Óðinn has my word. But then again, my word was never good for much in Ásgarðr . I believe I promised no contact. Close enough.

She replies right away. A welcome change from the silence my first text received. But I saw her then. Now? I’m in Africa. I only know what I think I saw as I was pulling away.

Ah, it’s good to have some communication with her, even if it is this.

I tell her I miss her. I tell her I would be there if I could. I reiterate everything from earlier. And she says she misses me, too. She says she misses my attendance at the meetings in her shop, misses our discussions.

I ask how her day was. Inquire how sales are at the shop. She’s happy with sales. The usual holiday rush has begun. She says books on mythology seem to be selling well. She says a customer made her think of me today.

Oh? And, why is that?

But I already know, don’t I?

He came in to buy a book for a friend. And it put her in mind of me.

I’m gentle. I don’t pry. I wait and hope I am wrong.

She doesn’t say he was handsome. She doesn’t say anything. I will it. I must know. But no, she gives nothing away. And yet, I know.

I bid her rest and sleep. I tell her I’ll see her soon.

And then I leave mortal thoughts behind and return to Ásgarðr .

Óðinn sits the throne, his ravens by his side. I shake my head as I approach.

“Óðinn. You lied to me. You tricked me. Leave her to me.”

Þórr steps into my path. “He’s done nothing.”

I stop a handbreadth from him. “You. You thought to take her from right under my nose. You tried to tempt her into your arms as well. And failed. She. Belongs. To me.”

“And yet, you’re only capable of bedding her by leave of Freyja.”

I take a deep breath and step around him. I will not be so easily drawn to anger.

“He’s fallen in love with her, father. Loki in love with a mortal.”

“And would you protect her, Loki?” Óðinn laughs. “Tell me, does she know? Has she any idea what you are or who you are? Or do you hide that truth in the hope of manipulating her for your own ends?”

I pace before the throne. “I will not use her for my own gain.”

“And if I were to tell her the truth of it, Loki? What would she do? Would she love you in return? Or would she find her time better spent with me?”

The term impotent fury never held meaning for me until this moment. I glare at him, my eyes narrow. “You would not.”

“And if I do, what of it? She’s one human, Loki. She’s not even worth your time and you make such an effort over her.” He rises to his feet. “No. She will not be yours, brother. I will show you the truth of it.”

I stare up at him through eyes that burn. “You don’t even care. This is no longer even about my duty and your idle threats to convince me of it. You would steal her from me only to get your own way. You care nothing for her. You are callous and selfish and determined to have your own way, irregardless of the cost.”

And he smiles. “You were correct then, Loki. We are not so different you and I.”

“We are nothing alike.”

He walks to where I stand. “No brother, you are mistaken in this assessment. You would use her as surely as I intend to. Make no mistake about your true nature. Whatever you claim to feel for her is nothing more than a thin veneer over your own determinedness to have her as yours.”

“And you willslander me to make your cause worthwhile?”

He laughs. “Slander is it, Loki? You begged favor of Freyja just to have her in your bed. Was that not enough? Do you mean to claim before me and this throne that you love her?”

My anger melts. I picture Livia before me and I smile. “I love her.” I take a step toward him. “I love Livia, whether she is Líf or not.”

“Does she love you?”

“I hope that she will.”

“She seemed not so terribly attached to you when I visited her today, Loki. She couldn’t tear her eyes from me.”

“Then I challenge you, Óðinn. Let me return to her and we shall see who she chooses. No tricks, no indulgences by others, no seiðr, nor any other magic. Just you and me. We will see which of us she chooses. We will see to whom her heart truly belongs.”

He studies me. I know he’s looking for the lie, the trick, something in my words that gives me an edge. Something to invalidate the contest or the rules.

“Very well. Loki has proposed a contest for the lovely Líf. I accept and agree to abide by the conditions put forth, so long as he shall as well.”

I nod. Enough harm has been done without resorting to trickery. Livia deserves more from me than that.

But in my apartment, back in Boston, I sit on the bed with my head in my hands. Have I been too hasty? Have I ensured she will turn from me now? I’ve done nothing to trick her thus far. She is interested in me still, yes?


	24. Perceived Loss

I rise early. Hearing from Lukas was apparently what I needed. I’ve slept better the past two days than the past two weeks combined. I feel good enough to take the dogs for a run before my stop to see Matty.

My day only gets better when I hear from him that he’s back in town. He texts me he will stop by the shop later.

My smile gives me away to Matty.

“He called.”

I shake my head. “Text. He’s home. He’s going to stop by later.”

“He’s good for you, Liv. Are you going to give him a chance?”

“He’s got one.”

She claps her hands. “I knew it. I knew you couldn’t deny him forever.”

“His persistence has paid off.” I admit. Maybe more than paid off. I am giddy at the idea he will be there later. I can’t stop smiling.

I go to work with an air of expectancy.

But the afternoon comes and goes and Lukas doesn’t show. Instead, it is Mark who comes into the shop.

“Livia. How are you?” He smiles at me. “I couldn’t stay away. I wondered, are you free for dinner tonight?”

“Um,” I hesitate. “I was expecting a friend.”

“Your friend can’t wait?”

“Well,”

“How about I pick you up at seven? You can see your friend another time.”

I nod. It’s just one evening. Just one date. But Lukas. No. Lukas hasn’t shown. Lukas is not the one here now to take me away.

I shake myself. “We could meet at The Boathouse. Say seven thirty?”

He leans over the counter and kisses my hand. “Until then.”

I am still sitting here an hour later when the bell jingles and it’s Lukas.

I smile at him and feel a tug deep in me. “I’m glad you’re back.”

But his face has fallen as soon as he looks at me. He smiles but it’s not his usual happiness.

“Livia. I apologize for not coming in time.” He takes a deep breath and plunges on. “I had to be away. I am so terribly sorry. I had business. But it’s over now. How are things here? How are you?”

He looks hopeful as he glances at me, waiting for my reply.

I smile again and feel the reality of him settle over me. “I’m good. It’s been interesting here while you’ve been gone. I’d tell you about it, but I’m a little late to meet a friend.”

He looks suddenly tired. Defeated. “I see. Well, may I walk you to…wherever it is you’re going?”

“I’d like that. I hate walking alone at night anymore. Things are so tense with all the street fighting and turf wars that have erupted around town.”

“Oh, yes. I’ll walk you. It’s safer.”

I grab my coat and lock up. I’ll pick up the dogs on my way home.

He slips into step at my side. “Where are we, you I mean, going?”

“The Boathouse.”

“Oh? That sounds like fun.” He says it like he’s being forced to eat rancid food.

“Is everything all right, Lukas?”

He nods and smiles at me. “Fine. I just, well I missed you more than I expected. He licks his lips. “I’ve missed you a lot.”

“I thought you wouldn’t call, you know. You did a fade and I figured, after the night in the club, you decided you didn’t…” I shrug.

He stops me and turns me to face him. “Livia. That is the furthest thing from the truth. I didn’t want to leave you. I swear it. But I had to go. I had no choice. I thought I had no choice. But I’m back. I came back because I don’t want to be without you.” He puts a hand out to touch me but thinks better of it and strokes the air by me instead.

I step closer. “Why did you wait so long to reach out?”

“It wasn’t what I wanted, Liv. I would do anything to have you. Name it and it will be yours.”

“There’s nothing I want.”

But there is. Only I’ve made a promise to meet Mark. I contemplate ditching him but remember how it felt thinking Lukas had done the same to me. I’ll go, though what I want is right here.


	25. Optimism

I’m going to lose her. It’s in the way she looks at me, the way she won’t meet my eyes suddenly. She’s going to meet Óðinn and I’m going to lose her. Desperate to gain her attention, I cast around for any interruption. There’s a couple snuggling over coffees across the way. A drama there will pull her mind off him.

And they react to my prompting admirably, escalating to a screaming match on their own.

“Oh God,” she moans it.

I feel the flash of her distress and I put my arm around her. “Let’s get out of here.”

She turns back as they continue to escalate into shoving. Perhaps I made too strong a suggestion. I gentle her along, my arm protectively about her shoulders.

“They seemed happy, Lukas. What happened?”

Surprised, I pull her tighter. “I hadn’t noticed. People are often not what they seem.”

She glances up at me. “No, they aren’t.”

“I long for the days when people were more civilized in public.” I bite my lip. I’m being less than honest, truth be told. People have never been all that civilized. “I long for a simpler time, if there ever was one. Is that silly of me, do you think?”

“Of course not. Things have a way of getting out of control anymore.” She shakes her head and snuggles closer to me. “It’s like all the gang fights. Too much social media. And there’s no telling what really happened to cause the drama in the first place. Only dead people at the other end and nobody knows why.”

“It bothers you.” Of course it does. Why would I think it didn’t? Why didn’t I consider that at all? “Whatever the cause, I’m sure it will be over soon.”

She smiles for me. “You’re feeling more optimistic than I am today then, Lukas.”

“There’s much to hope for, Livia. Isn’t there?” I’m hoping fervently. I’d pray to god, but it would only piss him off.

“I suppose so.”

She moves away from me slowly, as if reluctant. Maybe? Maybe she’s reluctant to bid my warmth goodbye? Has she fond memories of our time together? Of me?

“This is my stop. Ah, would you like to come in for a quick drink? I’m a little early yet. My friend won’t be here for a few minutes.”

“I’d like that.” And I would.

I find myself crowded behind her at the bar. She smells so good. She looks so good. She turns to offer me a drink and catches me staring. I’m positive my longing is naked on my face. I smile and take the drink.

A smile touches her mouth and then her eyes. She reaches up but then lets her fingers drop to my jacket instead and then away. No. Please touch me.

“You look like you need a stiff shot.”

Speechless, I raise my glass to her and she does the same, the smile still in place, her gaze still on mine. I drain the shot and lean across her to put the empty glass on the bar. The move brings me into contact with her and I lower my head to her hair. I linger, drinking her in.

“Livia?”

She steps away with a shake. Hope flares in my chest. Was she doing it too? She was doing it too. I see it in the way her eyes have dilated, the way her breathing has changed.

Away from Óðinn, I still have a chance. Does he cheat me? Does he put her under a spell for his own gain? Does he cheat?

“Matty? What’re you doing here?”

“Having a drink. Lukas! Hello.”

I grin at her. “Matty, a pleasure to see you, my dear.” I lift her hand to my lips and kiss it.

She laughs up at me and then turns back to Livia. I see the look they share. So, I’ve been a topic of conversation?

I hug Livia to my side a moment. “I won’t take any more of your time. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“If you plan to come to the meeting, yes.”

“Livia, wild horses couldn’t entice me away.”

Our gazes lock again. I see her fighting a laugh. She understands me. Then she shakes her head and lets go.


	26. Myth and Óðinn

Lukas shows up just as I am locking up the shop. He ducks in and smiles at me.

“Hi Livia. I hope I’m not too late.”

Snow flakes dance in his hair and on his leather jacket. Fascinated, I watch them melt.

“Hello?” He waves his hand in front of my face.

“You’re right on time.” I turn the lock. He follows me to the back.

He grins at the others, happy to be here. Happy. I like it when he smiles.

I sit next to him, powerless not to be close.

“Against my better judgment, tonight I’m going to allow you to chose the topic, Lukas. Will you choose the topic of discussion?” I’m a little afraid what he might say. But I’m a little curious too. OK, a lot curious.

He smirks at me and it grows into a smile as he looks at me. “Of course, Livia. I’d be delighted.”

“I’m afraid you are,” I mutter.

He ignores it and begins to toss items onto the table from a bag I only now notice.

“Oracles. Tarot cards, crystals, chicken bones, runes. Seers, psychics, fortune tellers, witches. The Norse believed in some of these, as you all well know. Óðinn lost an eye to Mímir in return for the ability to see and have wisdom. He drank from the well located beneath one of the three roots of Yggdrasil, in the realm of the Jötnar in order to gain poetic knowledge.

“Again and again, Óðinn takes from the Jötnar to gain magical knowledge. One is left to wonder whether the Jötnar were all seers, or was it just Mímir? Or were the Æsir the seers?” He looks around the table, waiting for interruption.

“I posit that all Jötnar were gifted with some form or another of this ability. I further posit that it was not psychic ability but wisdom the Jötnar possessed.”

“The giants are depicted as being rather unintelligent, Lukas. Are you suggesting they were not?”

He smiles at Rob. “I am. There are plenty of stories of beautiful and smart Jötnar. The gods frequently married from them and even more often sired children on them.”

“And what has any of that to do with the props you brought with you?”

“Livia and I had a lively discussion about oracles and runes not so very long ago. It got me thinking about how physical manifestations of the property…the ability to see, to foretell the future, always seem necessary. The use of these tools reaches far back in time and were even utilized by the gods themselves. The varied and many implements to see implies that one’s ability to forecast the future must reside inside one’s own mind. Otherwise, why so many?” He waved his hand over the oracles on the table.

“The accoutrements of the psychic are not from whence the fortune comes, rather it comes once one is able to focus and concentrate and hear the wisdom all around. Psychic ability is just the ability to tune in to the cosmos.”

I am shaking my head. “But why the props?”

He leans forward, a wicked grin fixed on his face. “Let’s try it.”

“Lukas.” I want to laugh, but he’s challenging me, and I know it.

He offers me a smile meant to be innocent, I’m sure. But he can’t hide his devious side when he looks at me.

“Please Livia. It’s your turn.” He says it so quietly that nobody else hears him.

I can only stare at him a moment. Is he for real? After what he told me the first time?

“Just once. Maybe we’ll all learn a little something.”

He claps his hands in glee and laughs. And then the smile drains from his eyes.

“For the love of the gods,” he mutters.

Confused, I turn to see what he is looking at behind me. And there, peering in through the back window, is Mark. He waves and knocks on the glass.

I rise. “Excuse me. I’ll be right back.”

“Of course you will,” he says.

I turn to reply and let it go instead. I open the door.

“Am I late?”

“Not too late.” I step back. “Come in.”


	27. Reading

Óðinn. That bastard. He sees me and gives me a two fingered salute. I ratchet up my smile and give him the finger while her back is turned.

He pulls her attention back with a touch on her shoulder and then steps close to her to talk. I can’t hear the words but I see her step back slightly and shake her head. But then she nods and follows him back to the table.

“It seems our little party has grown by one this evening,” she tells the group. “This is Mark. He’s become something of a regular in the shop lately.” She tilts her head to me. “I seem to be getting that a lot.”

He takes a seat next to me.

“Mark,” I say.

“Lo-“

“Lukas,” I hiss before he has the opportunity to fuck it all up.

“Lukas. I’m surprised to see you here.” He beams at me.

“And why would that be, my friend? I have quite an interest in mythology. I’m surprised you’ve come to the table. I didn’t think you gave a fig for it.”

“Introductions aren’t necessary, I see,” she says in a dry tone. She sits on my other side.

Óðinn raises his eyebrows but doesn’t comment.

“Mark, what do you know about oracles?” She asks.

I know she’s trying to bring him into the conversation, to make him feel welcome. I’d just as soon she spoke not another word to him.

“They’re good for something, always handy to have around, I say.”

I rub the bridge of my nose. “We were just about to do some readings, Mark. I’m sure there’s someone you could read.”

“What about Livia here?” He asks and offers her a smile.

“I promised Lukas the next, Mark. Maybe another time.”

I blink once, then turn to her. I want to cheer. I grin at her. “Will you try the runes?”

“They belong to Loki, you know,” Óðinn adds.

I frown. “Actually, it was Óðinn who discovered the runes, Mark. I thought you would know.”

“And yet, Loki has the skill with them.”

“No.” She places her hands on the table and stares at me. “May I?”

My hands fall into hers. “Of course.” I lean to her. “I didn’t think you would try it.”

“Why not? If, as you say, it’s merely the ability to listen over the noise of life, then why not?”

Her gaze locks with mine as she turns my hands over in hers. She rubs her thumbs over my palms and my mouth drops open.

“I can concentrate anywhere,” she says.

I breathe out. “What do you see?” It is a whisper.

“She sees you’re about to fall at her feet to worship,” Óðinn mumbles.

I kick him beneath the table.

She ignores us, her gaze on the open V of my shirt. I see her eyes lose focus, feel her hands grow colder.

“She will save you, you know. It’s not meant for you to fall just yet.” She licks her lips as her hands grow frigid. She is no longer seeing me at all. “Your enemies are close, Lo-Luke. Do you have enemies? Yes, I think that you do.” She muses over this. “Very close. Why would anyone want to see you come to harm?”

She lets go of my hands and her gaze rises to mine once more. She looks confused.

“Nobody wants me to come to harm, Livia.”

Her gaze flicks over my shoulder. She’s looking at Óðinn, or Mark as she thinks of him. I touch her hand, draw her attention back to me.

“Nothing good for me then, hm?” I am trying for lightheartedness. I want her smile to return. I do not want her thinking of her prophecy at all. It is quite clear to me that she has foreseen my future. She has seen through me, I think, seen to my true nature. Seen me, perhaps.

“Is it a joking matter?”

“It’s just fortune telling. It doesn’t mean anything.”

She snatches my fingers and squeezes as she leans to me. “You want me to trust you.” She leans in until she is close enough to kiss. “I want to but you don’t make it easy.”

“I’ll do anything I can.” By all that is sacred, I will try at the very least.

“Tell me the truth. All of it.”

“Except that,” I mouth.

She sits back, her disappointment in me clear. She inclines her head to Mark. “Competition.”

I drop my gaze briefly. “Your choice.” And it is. I’ve thrown her directly into the center of a terrible game. And now, I am stuck with it. She can no more end this undertaking than I can. We are bound to see this to the end.

A slow smile crosses her features. “Will you help me a moment?”

“I’ll do it. Lukas, you stay and myth.”

But I am already on my feet. There is no way I am allowing Óðinn to have a moment alone with her. He cheats.

She shakes her head and walks away. I’m on her heels.

“You act like a dog after a bitch in heat,”

I give Óðinn the finger over my shoulder again. It feels good.


	28. Honesty

Alone in the front of the shop, I turn on Lukas. “You know him?”

“Yes.”

“Old friends, I take it?”

“A relation, to be honest.”

I shake my head. “Not close then, are you?”

He smirks. “A fair assessment, yes.”

I scoff. “He asked me out.”

“I assumed that he had.”

I busy my hands with gathering snacks so that I don’t have to look at him when I say, “Are you going to as well? Or it is expected of me now? Am I expected to assume things where you’re concerned?”

I surprise him. He hesitates. “Do you want me to? All you have to do is ask and I will do anything for you.”

“You’re always so confident, aren’t you? What happened? No witty repartee for me now?”

“Livia, please. I am sorry for whatever I’ve done. I want nothing more than your happiness, nothing more than to offer you that which I have to give.”

“Tell me who you are.”

And that’s the sticking point, isn’t it? He can’t. Or won’t. He stands silent, his lips pressed together. I want to bludgeon him with it. I’ve never wanted to attack him before, but right now I feel a perverse pleasure in it.

“I need you to go.”

“You’re serious.”

“What did you expect, Lukas? That I would fall at your feet to worship? Just go away. Or, tell me the truth. You show up one day and suddenly I am up to my eyebrows in your relations making passes at me.” I raise my gaze to him. “Is there a reason for that? Or is it just coincidence?”

“I have no idea what my family is up to.”

I shake my head. “Not good enough.”

“They’re bastards hoping to make it difficult for me.”

I laugh. I have to. He’s so earnest about it. And whatever desire I felt to wound him with my words is gone. “Are they? Making it difficult?”

“Extremely.”

“I went out with him. Mark I mean.”

I see the pain in his eyes and then it’s gone. “Last night? I walked you to your date, didn’t I?”

I nod.

“I hope you had fun.”

“Are you?” I hand him a bottle of wine to carry. “I’m surprised at that.”

“Fine. I hope he was a miserable date and I hope you hate him.”

“You see? The truth isn’t so hard to tell, is it?”

“It all depends on the question, I suppose.”

“Are you inclined to lie about things, Lukas?”

“Livia, I want to be honest with you always.”

“What’s going on then?”

He opens his mouth to speak when the door opens.

“Did you get lost out here?”

I see him shut his eyes a brief moment. Whatever he had been meaning to say to me is lost in his annoyance at the arrival of his competition.

“Just chatting. We’ll be right out, Mark. Thank you.” I want him gone. I want Lukas to tell me whatever it is. I want him to be honest.

“I can help.”

“We’ve got it.”

I look at Lukas. His tone of voice allows for no argument from Mark.

He shrugs at me. “Don’t we?”

“Yes. I suppose we do.”

Dismissed, Mark nods to us, his face is a study in brotherly anger. These two are not on good terms.

I start to follow. I’ve spent enough time out here.

“Was he?” Lukas asks me as I start away.

“Was he what?”

A miserable date.”

“The worst.”

I see him smile and mouth ‘yes,’ as I head into the room.

The group breaks up earlier than usual. I attribute it to the heavy feeling between Mark and Lukas.

I refuse Mark’s offer of clean up help. Lukas lingers, though he doesn’t offerer to help this time.

“Do you want to stay?” I say it without turning to look at him.

“May I?”

“Tell me about your family.”

“Mm.” He leans on the counter. “Mark is my foster brother. Nick is my nephew. You know Nick.”

“Hm.” I hand him a glass of wine. “He asked me out, too.”

Lukas sips, nods.

“Why would they both ask me out? A father and son? It’s a little weird, to say the least. Especially as they are something like relatives of yours.”

“They’re a little weird,”

“They only showed their faces in my shop after you started coming here.”

“They do like to make it difficult for me.”

“You said.”

“What else can I say?” he shrugs.

“Why. For starters.”

“It’s their nature. It’s who they are. It’s fun?”

“Why would that be fun? Do they hate you?”

“Sometimes I wonder.”

My mouth quirks.

“Was Nick as successful as Mark?” He keeps his gaze neutral.

“No, he was not. He’s too arrogant for my tastes.”

“I always tell him that.”

I laugh. “He’s not learned his lesson yet, then.”

“Never will, I suspect.” He swirls the wine. “Can I take you to dinner?”

“What? Tonight?”

“Yes. Why not?”

Why not?

In the street, he puts an arm around me as we walk.

“No more fortune telling.”

“About that,”

He groans. “Oh no. No. No. I’ve got nothing to say on that score, Livia. Whatever you think you saw,”

“Was about you, Lukas. Are you in danger?”

“No more than normal.”

“Is that the truth?”

“Yes.”

“And just how much danger are you normally in?”

“No more than now.”

“Lukas.”

He puts his hands up. “I swear it.”

“You’ve said nothing to swear to. What are you hiding?”

“Nothing.”

But I don’t believe that. I believe he’s hiding a lot.


	29. Final Threat

“Are you in the mafia?”

I miss a step. “The what? No.”

“All these relations of yours,” she beings.

“Are just relations, my dear. Nothing more, I promise. It’s not what you think.”

“Then what is it? I want to trust you, Lukas.”

I sigh. She knows how to defeat me.

“Look, sometimes people make bad choices, right? Sometimes what they’re fated to do just isn’t…isn’t appealing anymore. Fate is fickle, people even more so.” I look up at the falling snow. “Maybe something new, a change, a new start in life. Ragnarök can wait,” I murmur.

“What?”

I smile and squeeze her shoulders. “Oh, it’s not the end of the world. Come on, let’s eat.”

Grafton Street Pub is closest. I take her there.

We’re seated in a small booth in the bar. In this light, she’s more beautiful than ever. I brush my hand over her hair, melting the snow that still sparkles in her curls.

“Please, Lukas. Tell me what’s going on.”

“There’s not much to tell.” I take her hands in mine. “I’m ready to toss in the towel. I’m tired of my job.”

“Why? I thought you enjoyed it.”

I smile. “There were moments,” I say. “But not anymore. Life is so much sweeter here, Livia. You’re in it, for one thing.”

She smiles at me. “You can’t do your job and date me too?”

“I can’t do my job and have you too,” I agree. “Do you want to date me?”

“Is it the travel? Because that’s not a problem,”

“It’s not the travel.” I stroke her fingers. “It’s everything. I don’t want to do it anymore.”

“It’s dangerous, isn’t it?”

“For me? No. I suppose there’s an element of danger in anything approaching a role like this. But I’m safe enough.”

“It’s mafia or secret government work. But that doesn’t explain your family.”

I laugh. “Nothing explains my family. I swear, government work is what I do. No mafia, OK? I know you don’t believe me,” I say and then put my finger to her lips before she can argue. “The truth is, they are my family. The truth is I do government work. The truth is, I am not in the mafia. The truth is, I like you and I want your attention.”

She nods, but I know she isn’t totally convinced.

I walk her home after dinner. She stops at the gate outside her house.

“Well goodnight, Lukas. It was fun.”

“It was. I’d like to do it again.”

She smiles. She looks happy. I can almost pretend this is normal. I can almost pretend that what we have right now is meant to be. Almost.

I put my arms around her, draw her to me as if she may break. I put the dogs leads in her hand and then tilt her chin up. “Goodnight Livia.”

I brush a kiss across her mouth. She returns it. Yes. We could be normal. We could find comfort together.

I watch her into the house and then start off on my own way home.

“She’s not meant for you.”

“Go away.” I walk on, ignoring him.

“Father is angry, Loki.”

“I don’t give a damn what Óðinn is, Þórr. Leave me be.”

“You can’t just quit, you know”

I turn. “I thought you would be happy. I thought all of Ásgarðrwould rejoice that Loki doesn’t want to begin Ragnarök. And still, you just can’t leave me alone, can you?”

“Your role cannot be so easily cast aside.”

“For the love of…well, the gods, Þórr. I just don’t give a damn. Maybe now is not the time.” I shrug. “Maybe now it just not the time.”

“You cannot even convince yourself of it, Loki. Ragnarök has begun. You can’t just quit.”

“Well I do. I quit. I’m through. I’m going to do something else now and you can’t stop me. Óðinn can’t stop me.”

“Will you make us choose your fate?”

“I thought my fate was chosen. Now you say there’s some choice for me? Oh no, Þórr. I’ve learned my lessons well over time. My fate is cast and sealed. Óðinn has been very clear on that. In this instance, I quit. Fate be damned. Óðinn can find someone else.”

“Loki, Óðinn will release Heimdallr from his duties to bring you back.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

“Loki, do not walk away.”

“Goodnight to you, Þórr.” I wave him off and continue into the darkness.


	30. Desire

I wake twisted in the sheet. The dream again. I thought I was past it.

Lukas. Making-love with him. I rub my eyes and try to forget. I started having this dream after the night at the club. It faded while he was away. Now that he’s back in town, I’ve started having the dream again. Longest running fantasy ever. And yet, impossible to really forget.It’s like the memory of having him. It is the echo of something not yet tried.

“Pointless.”

I climb from the bed. I’ve got plenty to do today. More than enough to do, and random thoughts from my subconscious are just not part of what I need right now.

As if my thoughts have alerted him, the phone rings.

“Hello?”

“Livia, good morning. I was thinking about you and wondered if you’d like to meet me for dinner tonight?”

“Stop thinking about me so much,” I grumble to myself. And why does he always sound five minutes from falling into bed with me with that deep voice of his?

“What?” He sounds utterly confused.

“Nothing. Just not all here yet. I only just woke up.”

“I’m sorry. I bet you look lovely, even if you are a little cranky.”

I can tell he’s holding back a laugh.

“Dinner, you said?”

“Yes. Lunch too, if I can impose on you.”

“Not breakfast?” I’m joking. Breakfast is the last thing on my mind right now. Come to it, food is the last thing on my mind right now.

“I thought that was Matty time.”

Hm. He pays attention.

“It is,” I agree. I flow back onto the bed. I’m getting nowhere.

“Is everything all right?”

“What would be wrong?”

“I’m not sure. You sound like something’s bothering you.”

I sigh. “Just not awake yet.”

“If you need anything,”

“No.” I back off a little. He’s trying to be nice. “No, nothing you can do,” I lie. “Take me to lunch,” I add.

“Please, if there’s anything at all…just let me know, all right?”

Some small voice in me wants to scream at him to come and take me now. But I can’t. I don’t understand him or what he is. I think he’s lying to me. And it doesn’t matter to my libido at all.

I breathe a laugh.

“That’s better.”

“What is?” I ask.

“You’re smiling now.”

“I’m sorry, Lukas. You caught me out this morning. I’m not usually this horrible in the morning.”

“Darling, you can be horrible with me anytime you want. Deal?”

“And what do you get out of it?”

“Time with you.”

I giggle. “You’re very accepting.”

“I want you, Livia. All of you; good, bad, whatever. Can I make myself any clearer?”

I stop breathing. Nothing in his tone of voice implies anything sexual at all but I plummet to the depths of depravity just the same.

“Hello?” He chuckles and over the phone it is fuel to the fire.

I think I actually whimper.

“Do I need to come over there right now?”

Now his voice betrays him. Now he sounds as horny as I feel. I break into a sweat.

“I can make it better,” he murmurs.

I swallow as best I can around the ache that’s built in me.

“No,”

“Oh but I can,” he fairly breathes it. “I can make it all better.”

“Worse, this is so much worse.”

His laugh sinks into me like a caress. I sprawl across the tangle of sheets. What is happening to me?

“What can I say that won’t scare you away?”

He seems to expect no answer and I have none. I lay where I am and listen to him.

“I know. I can offer you the world. Will you take it?”

“I don’t need the world.”

“I can offer absolute power. Can I corrupt you absolutely?”

“Nope. I don’t need power, Lukas.”

“How about riches?”

His voice has taken on a low urgency that is irresistible. I squirm.

“I have all I need.”

“I can make you a queen.”

“No. I’m good.”

“You’re very good,” he agrees. “Hm,” the sound is a deep rumble.

I wonder what he’s doing on his end of this call. My mind makes suggestions that have nothing to do with the temptations he offers.

“Perhaps something simpler. Perhaps all you want of me are the answers that you seek.”

“That’s good for a start.”

He laughs. “I don’t plan to stop there.”

“What do you plan?” I ask in a voice that has lost all ability not to quiver.

“If I tell you it will spoil all the fun.”

Oh my God.

“Livia, believe me when I say to you that I will go to the ends of the earth for you.”

“Yes Lukas, I believe you.”

I let my eyes close. I’m comforted by the idea, somehow.Lukas would do whatever it took. For me. The terrible need abates, allowing me to think again.

“I’ve got to go but I want to make certain you’re all right before I do.”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

I am. I’m still churning inside but I’m OK. “I’ll see you at lunch.”


	31. Fire

The traffic is too heavy to be accounted for by the snows. I peer out the window, through the slush that has gathered there. Fire. I can see it even from a block away. The entire building looks to be ablaze. Is she there? Is she alive?

I step out of the car and onto the sidewalk. I toss money at the driver and then begin walking.

There. Even in the darkness and the flickering light of the fire, I see her. I would know her anywhere. She stands behind the tape, arms wrapped around her own waist. Ah, her pain is a lance through me. Her dogs are there with her, and for that I am glad.

“Livia.”

She turns on me, snarling, at me and I take a step back.

“You! You did this!”

I shake my head. “No.”

“It was you and your family. Admit it!”

“I would never burn your bookstore, Livia. I swear it.” I am shaking my head and she is still coming at me.

“It was because of you. It’s gone! Everything is gone! My fathers work, gone! The books my mother meticulously collected her entire life, gone. And it is your fault!”

She has reached me. Now she stands a foot from me, her head raised so that she can glare up at me. “This is what I found. You bastard.”

She slams a paper against my chest. It has been much crumpled and is wet. I don’t want to read it but she expects it of me. “Stay away from him or you…are next.” I sigh.

“I never want to see you again.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” She laughs, it is a painful and hysterical sound. “You’re sorry? You bastard. You knew this would happen. You knew it.”

I look at the fire. I shake my head.

“It was my life.”

“Livia.”

“You destroyed my life.”

I am speechless before her. Despite my attempts to save her, I have destroyed her as surely as if Ragnarök had already come. The things she held dear are gone and with them my hope and her life.

She smacks me and I barely register it. I am staring at the fire. “Can nothing be saved?”

“Look at it!”

I am looking at it. The entire building is on fire. Water pours everywhere and her little shop burns.

“What would you save if you could, Livia? What would you bring from the shop?”

“The book, Lukas. The book of poems. It was my mother’s favorite.” She is sobbing.

Of course. I know exactly which books she means. I’ve read it, after all. She does not register when I leave her side. She is crouched between her dogs now, hiding her pain in their sides.

The firemen are too busy to notice me as I walk past their engines. I bring forth my true form. I am Loki and I will repair some of the damage that has been done. I must. It cannot end this way, in fire, in desecration of all that she has ever loved.

Inside the building the fire has already ravaged much of the shop. I turn away from the worst of the flames and head toward the back. I know she took that book off the shelf the day that I read it. I know where it is. And I find it on a shelf, exactly where I knew it to be. It is charred but not yet burned.

Book in hand, I exit through the back. I will save what I can. It cannot end this way for her. The flames die down as I pass. Here at least, there will be no more damage.

She is sitting on the curb when I return. Someone has given her a blanket and she looks diminished beneath it. I stand before her, a supplicant only wishing to help.

“Go away, Lukas. Haven’t you done enough?”

I crouch before her. “Here.” I thrust the book out to her and, surprisingly, she takes it.

Then I walk away. I cannot stay where I am not wanted. I cannot bear witness to the hatred she feels for me.

In this one act, they have succeeded where they failed before. She hates me.


	32. Anger

My bed is hardly big enough for both dogs but they refuse to leave my side. Matty, too, remains nearby. I refuse to look at her. I refuse to talk to her. I am mourning the loss of everything I had left of my family.

“Liv, you need to eat something.”

I shake my head.

“He’s come by twice.”

“Fuck him.”

“You really believe he started the fire?”

I shake the paper at her. I’ve not let go of it for a moment. The fire. The loss of the shop. It’s all his fault.

“He keeps sending things, Liv. There are boxes of things out there. At least see what it is.”

“I don’t care what it is. Nothing he can do will make it better. They threatened me. They destroyed what was mine because of him.”

“When can you see the damage?”

I throw a pillow at her.

She sighs. “Fine. I’m going to open the boxes.”

“Keep it. Throw it away. I don’t care.”

I can hear her opening boxes at my little kitchen table. Whatever he sent is bound for the trash. I want nothing that he has to offer.

“Liv. You better come see this.”

“No.”

And a minute later she is back in my room, her arms loaded with boxes. She puts them on the foot of the bed.

“I really think you should see these.”

“Nothing he could send me will ever make it right.”

And she holds up a book. And another. Three more before I am sitting up from my pillows.

“What are those?” My cried out eyes surely can’t be seeing what she holds in her hands.

“Books. He sent you books.”

I snatch one from her. “Where did he find this?”

“Is it from your shop?”

“It can’t be.”

But it looks like it is. It’s a first edition of ‘A Tale of Two Cities,’ and worth a few thousand dollars. It came to me from my mother’s family and is priceless to me. I touch the cover. It is dry though I can smell smoke from the binding. He could not have retrieved it. The shop was mostly destroyed. I watched it burn.

And yet, I discover that each box contains a single book. Each book appears identical to one lost in the fire.

Except one.

It is carefully packaged in a fine linen stitched with runes. I unwrap the cloth to see a leather cover illuminated with drawings of the Norse gods. The title, in Old Norse, is simply Prophecy of Loki. I don’t dare lift it from the box, so afraid am I that it will simply fall to pieces.

And that is when the phone rings. Matty picks it up, listens, and then holds it out to me.

“Where did you get this?” I demand, all semblance of kindness stripped from my voice.

“Hello to you too, Livia. I see you’ve received my gift.”

“Where did you get this, Lukas?”

“It belonged to me. Now it is yours.”

“Did you steal it?”

“Of course not.” He sounds less offended than amused. And above all, he sounds tired and terribly sad.

My anger redoubles. He has no right to feel anything resembling sorrow. Not for me, nor as I suspect, for himself.

“It’s priceless if it’s real. Is it a fake?”

“No.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“Have it dated. It’s no fake. I swear to you that it was mine. I’ve stolen nothing. I want you to have it. I’m sorry for the shop, Livia…Please don’t hang up on me!”

How did he know I planned to hang up? “Where did you get the books, Lukas? Those were lost in the fire.”

“No. They weren’t. Haven’t you been there? It wasn’t all destroyed.”

“And you went in and got them?” My anger flares. “You went into my destroyed shop to salvage my books?”

“For you!” He is frantic. “I did it for you.” I hear him take a deep breath. “Please.”

“I haven’t even been there yet.”

“Maybe if you go. There’s lots there. And I’m sorry. I swear to you I had nothing to do with it. I swear to you that it won’t happen again.”

“No. Next time it will be me. I’ll be the target next time. Can’t you just leave me alone?”

“No. Livia, please. Hear me out. Nothing will ever happen. You will never come to harm over me.”

“Just my things, hm?” My mouth twists on the words. I could hate him no less than I do right now.

“They really don’t want me with you.”

“And I’m going to go with that one too, Lukas. OK? Goodbye.”

“Livia! Listen to me! Please.”

“No! You listen to me, you crazy son of a bitch. I’ve had enough. I’ve been threatened. My shops been torched. And now you’re sending me books from it. You’ve sent me a priceless manuscript that you claim is yours. You’re insane. Or I am for talking to you.”

“Let me explain.”

“What? What can you explain, Lukas? What can you possibly say that will explain any of this away? Hm?”

“They want me to finish a job that I started. They only want me to fulfill my obligation, do my duty. And my interest in you is keeping me from it.”

“Well you go on and do whatever you need to do. I’m through.”

“I need you.”

“I need my head examined. Why am I listening to this?”

“Because you know it’s true. Because you know I’m telling you the truth. I had nothing to do with the fire. I swear.”

“But it was because of you!” The dogs hop off the bed at the tone in my voice.

“Fine. Yes. It was because of me. Are you happy with that? And I’m sorry. I’ll make it right. Just give me a chance.”

“You can’t make it right. It’s done. I’m done.”

“I’ll get every book, I promise. Let me try.”

“No and I don’t want your manuscript either.”

“Yes you do.”

“No Lukas. I do not. I’m sending it back to you.”

“I gave it to you. It is my gift to you. It is hundreds of years old, Livia. It’s one of the few things I’ve kept. I want you to have it. Please.”

I grit my teeth. “I do not want it.”

“Yes you do. I know you do.”

I scream and slam the phone against the nightstand, chipping the case. “Quit arguing with me!”

And when I lift it to my ear again, he is still there.

“I’ll stop. Whatever you say. Name it and it shall be yours, Livia. Keep the book. Give it back. Whatever. Tell me to go fuck myself. I’ll figure out a way.”

I shut my eyes. And despite the anger and pain, I laugh through my tears.

“I’ll let you watch.” Does he sound relieved?

“Oh my God. Just shut up.”

“Will you at least meet me at the shop? Call your insurance adjuster. I’m sure it will be OK to rummage through and gather the books.”

“And then what? It’s still gone.”

“I’ll leave you alone after. Please?”


	33. Attack

But I cannot leave her alone. I’ve fallen too deeply in love with her to leave her alone now.

And though she hates me, she meets me at the ruins of her shop. She’s brought backup, men from the weekly meeting, her friend, her dogs.

“The adjuster said I should go through things,”

“Will they pay your claim?”

She frowns at me. “You came here without permission and took my belongings. I should have you arrested.”

I nod. Anything I say will only set her off.

She crosses the tape barrier and enters the building. I move to follow.

“It’s best if you leave her be, Lukas. You’re not her favorite person right now.”

“How do I make it right, Matty? What do I do?”

But she has no answers for me. I stand with the others and wait. Livia remains inside for hours.

Eventually, I take Matty and we buy coffees and pastries. Still, Livia doesn’t come out.

“I’m going to check on her,” says her friend from the shop.

I glance up from my phone. “She’s fine.”

“She is hardly fine, Lukas. And she’s been in there far too long.”

I shrug, look at the dogs, look back to my phone.

“She’s fine. These two would let us know if not.”

He steps across the tape. “You sir, should go home. You’re not wanted here.”

Well, he’s right about that. But I remain, standing in the gloom of nightfall.

“Is it true?”

“Is what true?” I turn my attention to Matty.

“Are you really in the mob?”

“Good God, no.”

“She said she thought you were. She’s usually right about things.”

My eyebrows lift. “In this instance she is wrong. She knows quite well what it is that I do.”

“Something in government, she said.”

I nod.

“What did the note mean? Who sent it?”

“I told her, Matty. My interest in her is keeping me from doing my job to the best of my ability. I suppose they thought this would give me a reason to focus again.”

“Who?”

I sigh and slip the phone back into my pocket. “The people who want me to finish.” I give her a grin. “I’m sorry. I want to offer you more but I don’t have anything else.”

“Don’t go in.”

But I’m already across the tape. “Good advice. I really should take it.”

I hear her curse behind me but she makes no move to stop me.

I find Livia staring at a pile of meticulously cleaned books.

“Where’s what’s his name?”

“Robert,” she says without thought. “I asked him to go.”

“And you want me to as well.”

She crosses her arms, then looks at the work light that casts more shadows than light. “You came in here after the fire.”

“Yes.”

“You came in that night, Lukas. Didn’t you? When it was burning. You came in here and you took the book out.”

I know which book, which night. I shrug, wait for more.

“And you weren’t hurt.”

“The fire wasn’t bad back here.”

Now she looks at me with narrowed eyes. “You risked your life for one book.”

“Livia, if I risked my life at all it was for you. Not the book.”

She points to the discolored ceiling. “The adjuster told me he’s never seen a room not burn before. He said it looks like the fire started in the front and the books…the books caught quickly. The building should have been a total loss, he says. But this room didn’t burn much. My books survived, the books my mother collected survived.”

“All of them?”

She shakes her head. “Not all. The most important ones. I lost a few.”

“I’m glad your mother’s books survived.”

Now she looks at me. She bites her lip as she stares at me. “You came in while it was burning. And then you came back and carried books out and mailed them to me.”

I feel cold under her stare. I stuff my hands in my pockets and wait for her to send me away.

“And sent me a priceless manuscript while you were at it.” Her lips tighten and the lines of her face lift and I know she’s fighting tears.

“I want to make it right.”

“That doesn’t make it right!”

I recoil from her anger.

“It’s ancient, hundreds of years old, isn’t it? Where did you get it?”

“It was mine.”

“From where?” She crosses the distance between us in two steps. “Where did it come from? You’re a liar and you’re a thief and I want to know where you got that book. Tell me.”

“My family.”

“Fuck your family,” she says in a voice laced with venom. “And fuck you too.” She pokes me in the chest. “Where did you get that book?” She drives her finger into my chest with each word.

“Livia, stop poking me or start hitting me because if you don’t, I’m going to become angry.”

Her eyes widen and she closes the tiny gap between us. “Are you threatening me? After you destroyed my life? You dare?”

I grab her hands. “Just stop.”

And when she tries to pull away, I hold her tighter.

“Listen to me, please. That book has been mine for many, many years. It came to me from the men who wrote it. It was given to me and, now I give it to you.”

She scoffs and tries to pull away.

I tug her to me again. “I swear it.”

She frees her hands and then rubs them. I’ve been too rough with her. “Bullshit.”

“Fine. Don’t believe me. You asked and I told you the truth. And by the way, my family is not the mob. They are many things, but organized enough for that is not one of them. Will you please try to understand me? Just a little?”

Just as she opens her mouth to let me have it, her dogs begin to howl. I am quicker than she is to respond and I’ve pushed her to the floor before she more than starts to turn. She hits the ground on her hands and knees and tries to climb back up. I step on her coat to hold her down and take the brunt of the violence.

Surprised, I look at my chest and see blood seeping through my shirt. The pain takes a moment to arrive and by then, the second shot has been fired and I hear her screaming.

I sit down hard, more shocked than anything and then the pain hits me. I gasp and lift my shirt with fingers that feel all too heavy.

“Jesus. Oh my God, Lukas, you’re shot.”

I raise my head and meet her gaze. “Mm, it seems so,”

“It’s…holy shit…you’ll be O.K. I’ll call an ambulance. Just sit still. Oh my God, Lukas.” She finds her phone and I hear her calling the police. Then she’s at my side.

My eyes are too heavy and I’m tired. “This is what it feels like to be shot,” I mumble. My lips are cold. I want a nap and a blanket.

“Look at me.”

I blink but look up at her.

“You have a lot of explaining to do,” she tells me.

It’s the last thing I hear.


	34. Sorrow

Lukas is unconscious when the ambulance arrives. Matty, the dogs, and I watch as they wheel him out and take him away.

“What happened?” I ask the floor. This was my life. This was my happy place and in the course of a few weeks it has turned in to a place of destruction and violence.

“Thor and Óðinn saw him, Liv. They saw the guy run into the building and they tried to stop him.” She seems to want to answer my rhetorical question.

I look at my dogs. Then I lean over and pet them.

“What happened in here? It was so fast. The guy just ran past them so fast.”

And I look at the blood stain at my feet. “He saved me.”

Matty shakes her head. “Lukas?”

“He pushed me out of the way. He saved me.”

But it isn’t until later that I cry. Once the police have interviewed me, and Matty has been satisfied that I’m fine, and I’m left alone to wander my empty house now filled with the smell of smoke from the books, I cry.

I sit, the Prophecy of Loki in my lap, and I cry. I rub the raised runes on the cover as if reading braille. This belonged to Lukas. I believe that. I believe him, despite what I said to him. And he gave it to me. He meant for me to see him, to know he’s not a liar or a thief. He invited me in, despite the hatred I felt. He gave this to me to teach me.

And he’s managed to get shot over me. Whatever’s going on is somehow about me.

And when I am done, I wrap his book back in it’s linen and I put it in the safe.

There’s so much I want to ask him. I want to understand why he does what he does and why he allows his family to do what they’re doing.

He promises I will remain unharmed but he got shot in my stead.

I told him I read the book, his book. And I did. I saw his truth in it. I saw things I cannot explain. I understand, now, his crazy theories and beliefs about the gods and where those ideas came from.

And I want to know where he got the book. Why he has it, and why he’s never shared it with the larger community. Why so many secrets?

And what job do the infamous “they” insist he complete? If he’s in government work as he claims, then are Mark and Nick something other than relatives? If it’s not the mob he’s tied up in, is it something potentially worse?


	35. Renewal

He’s asleep when I walk into his hospital room. His dark curls make an untidy nest for his pale face against the pillow. For someone only recently shot, he looks amazingly healthy.

His brow creases and he licks his lips before turning his head toward me. “I thought you hate me.”

“Hello to you too, Lukas.”

He opens his eyes and there is the hint of amusement in them. “You’re all right?”

I nod. “You saved me from being shot. I thought I owed you a visit.”

I pull a chair over and sit down. “Why didn’t you duck?”

“I needed to make sure you were safe.”

I consider him. “Government work?”

He nods a single time, worrying his lower lip with his teeth.

“Will this continue to happen around you?”

“No.”

“Can you promise me that it won’t?”

I can see how much he wants to lie. It’s in the subtle tightening around his eyes, the way his jaw works. Then he shakes his head. “No.”

“I’m afraid of you.”

“I will never hurt you, Livia. I swear it.”

“But someone else might, isn’t that right?”

“No. I don’t believe anyone would hurt you.”

“But I do.”

He accepts that without a word.

“When do they let you out of here?”

“Tomorrow.”

I arch an eyebrow.

“Flesh wound.”

“Both of them? You were shot twice.”

“Fast healer.”

I shake my head. I saw him get shot. I saw.

“I’m doing better than they expected. They said I can go home tomorrow.”

“I’m glad.” And I am. I stand, pat his hand. “Get some rest.”

“Can I see you again? Or did you come to, well,”

“Lukas,”

He reaches up and takes my hand. “Please stay. Just a few minutes.”

I want to ask why but I can’t. I’m looking down at him and I can’t speak.

“Hey.”

I shake my head and my hair falls across my face.

He reaches up and brushes it back. “Livia?”

“I just came to…I came to make sure you were O.K.” I wipe my eyes, suddenly tired. “And to thank you for saving me.”

He looks concerned for me. He’s the one shot and in the hospital bed and he’s concerned for me. I shake my head again.

“Thank you for checking up on me.”

He says it so formally that I stop trying to hide and I meet his gaze.

The corners of his mouth turn up and he lifts his hand to my cheek. “It’ll be all right.”

I sit on the edge of the bed, the strength gone out of me.

And we sit there in silence until the nurse comes to check on him.

I leave without saying another word to him, or him to me. There doesn’t seem to be anything else to say.


	36. It shall be yours

I wait a week to call her, hoping it will be long enough for her emotions to settle. Her visit to me left her churning inside and I’m not about to cause her more pain if I can help it.

And when I call, she agrees to meet me for dinner that night.

I settle for trousers and a button down shirt and then berate myself for caring how she sees me. Except that I do care. I don’t want to frighten her but I don’t want to ignore the reality of what I am to her. This outfit seems the middle ground between who she wants and who I am. Who I am as Lukas.

Then I sit, head in my hands, and seethe with rage for what has happened to her because of me. I am in love with her and she’s terrified of me. All the nine realms take Ásgarðr . I no longer care. I will not be Loki anymore. Not if it means losing her.

Then I walk to her house, taking solace in the snow and the cold.

I ring the bell and the dogs give an answering woof from inside. I hear her steps. And then she opens the door.

“Hi.”

“My God, you’re beautiful.”

She lowers her head.

But she is achingly beautiful, heartrendingly beautiful. I can only stare at her.

She looks up at me. “Thank you for saying so,”

I don’t think I’ve ever seen her in a dress. It flows over her like water, every move she makes causes ripples in the fabric, causes it to shift across her. And when she steps toward me, it parts around her legs, the washed silk sliding across her thigh. I want to kneel before her. I am hers utterly.

“We’d better go or we’ll be late for our reservation.”

I lift my lost gaze to hers.

She takes my arm and turns me. “Come on.”

Instead of a coat, she has a wrap. I take it from her and lay it over her shoulders, drape it across her body until she steps into my embrace and then I wrap my arms around her.

“Livia,”

“We’ll be late.” But she sounds as if it no longer matters to her either.

I am going to do this right. I shake myself and step away from the scent of her. “Yes. You’re right, of course.”

She peeks at me over her shoulder. “You look nice too, by the way. Very handsome.”

And, I smile.

I take her hand as we walk. She chose the restaurant. I’ve no idea where it is, but she claims we can walk there.

She takes us into the park as a short cut.

“Do you have plans for New Year’s Eve?”

“No.”

“I thought we could celebrate together?”

“A party, you mean?”

“I thought something a bit more on the quiet side. Perhaps we could spend the evening in.” I pause and look up at the snow capped trees. “Wouldn’t a peaceful night be good?”

The sound of footsteps comes out of the dark behind us and I look back the way we came.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“Lukas, you’ve got to be honest with me. Is someone following you? Us?”

“No. I always get a little edgy walking parks in the dark. I’ve said nothing will happen to you, to me. Please trust me, even if only this time.”

She takes my measure, her gaze lingering a moment.

“Then we’re going out for New Year’s Eve, Mr. Farbauson.”

“If you insist.”

“I do.”

I sweep her into my arms with a laugh. “Anything for you.”

“Anything?”

“Anything,” My lips linger on hers. “Name it and it shall be yours.”

I press, kissing her intently, still holding her off the ground.

“Tell me what you are. Who you are.”

“Let me show you,” I murmur against the cup of her ear.

She nods.


	37. First love

He leaves the house dark. There’s no need for light. No need for words. Everything I’ve ever felt for him rushes to the fore and I step to him, into his arms.

He tastes of honey. He tastes of the divine. My lips part for his tongue and there is a hint of cinnamon with the honey now. And then there is only the feel of his mouth, his teeth hard behind his lips, his tongue against mine.

The pressure of his arms intensifies and he lifts me to hold me against the wall, his body to mine, his taut stomach flat against mine, his hips between my thighs.

“Lukas,” his name is a sigh on my lips.

“Mm,” is the only reply I receive.

His mouth moves to my neck and I shiver.

“I’ve wanted you this way for so long,” he murmurs.

My fingers twine into his hair even as his mouth seeks each sensitive spot, each nook where a well placed kiss or a swirl of tongue will draw me further into him. I am breathless beneath this gentle onslaught.

He lifts me further, seating me against him. Even layers of clothing cannot hide his immensity and excitement. And he is oh, so ready.

His fingers grasp my thighs and hold me to him. He rocks and I moan, an involuntary sound of abandon that makes him smile against my neck.

I raise my head and meet his kiss, my desire making me reckless with abandon. I slip my hands down his shoulders and chest, seeking the buckle of his trousers. I will have this man on my own terms.

He hisses a breath and twitches beneath my questing fingers. He is on the knife edge of craving, and his hunger and fascination spur me on.

“You leave me breathless. Livia, I ache for you. I can feel you in my soul.”

His mouth closes over mine again.

“Say you feel even a little of what I do. Say you feel me, too.”

“Lukas, my God,”

And when I moan, he growls and his hands come together beneath my ass and he pushes me to him.

I am carried to bed, his mouth never leaving mine.

And there, he kneels before me, undresses me, presses his face to my hot skin. But I don’t want to be worshipped. I want him. I pull him up by the lapels of his shirt, tug until the buttons threaten to rip off.

His eyelids flutter when he looks up at me. But he rises, smiling faintly as he watches me tear at his pants. Then they slide down his thighs and I am faced with manhood that strains against boxers the color of wine. I shove those away, freeing him.

“Oh my God,” I breathe, the words more a plea than a prayer.

He’s watching my reaction, his hands caressing my cheek, my hair.

Our relative positions provide me an opportunity I wouldn’t normally dare. I wrap my hand around him, feel the satin of him as his foreskin slips back with my motion. I lean over and kiss, taste the drop of salty wetness that balances like a jewel on the tip of his penis. I lick and am rewarded with a deep groan. What is this wanton desire, this desperate need for him that I have? Desire makes it difficult to think, to see.

His hands fall to my shoulders to bring me to my feet. We stand together and kiss.

And then he takes me to my back on the bed, comes to rest on his elbows and knees above me, his hands cupping my head.

He seems content to kiss me and murmur his longing for me. It’s not enough but I can’t budge him from his position. And with his knees spread between mine, I can’t bring him to me.

“Condom,” I whisper against his mouth.

He lifts his head.

“What?” His breathing is erratic, his face flushed, his eyes heavy.

He’s gone on kissing, just as I am.

I gesture. “Condom, you know.” Does my eagerness not register?

He licks his lips, then swallows, then shakes his head to clear it. “Oh. Um,”

And I’m sure he’s going to tell me he has none. But he leans over, his body still not touching mine, and snags his discarded trousers from the floor.

He makes a show of searching the pockets, finally coming up with a little foil packet that he holds between two fingers. He grins at me.

“This?”

“That.” I’ve never been so happy to see one in my life.

I’m ready to orgasm just from the feel of our shared kisses. I want to know what it’s like with him, all of it. Will it be as I’ve dreamed him for so long?

“Now?”

“Now.” I want to scream it at him. Take me, for God’s sake.

His grin grows as if he’s heard the scream in my mind.

“Help me?”

He rolls to his back and offers the condom to me.

I sit up, suddenly awkward. I’m not good with these, and he’s not circumcised. How do I do this?

He senses my discomfort and put his hands over mine.

“Like this,” he says and does it with me, showing me how to hold back the foreskin, how to roll it on so things are right.

And he transforms something uncomfortable into something sensual.

I turn to him, find his mouth with my own, slide up his body, my thighs parting around his.

“Impatient little one,”

“Just do it already.”

He smiles against my mouth, his hands wrapping around my hips. He lifts me and sets me squarely on him. And we both moan when he enters me.

He flips us, his first stroke deep, parting me to make room, filling me utterly.

“So long,” he pants the words against my cheek. “It has been so long. Ah mine, my beautiful one, none can deny me you now.”

His mouth trails the line of my chin.

“Beautiful, so beautiful.”

Each stroke widens me, fills me, rubs him against me until I think I will burst with the feel of it.

I cry his name as I lift my hips to his. This is what I’ve dreamt over and over. This is how it should be.

“Open your eyes. I want to see you come undone against me. I want to feel…you…when you come. Look into my eyes and let me experience all that you are.”

I open my eyes.

He blinks at the ferocity of need he sees even as my body clenches around him, the force of my orgasm surprising us both. I scream his name as it pulls me away from myself. I am swirling in the feeling, screaming and clawing him. Each stroke sends me off again, each thrust rips me apart and spirals me higher on the wave.

I don’t know if he orgasms. I don’t care. I want this forever. We roll together and I come to rest atop him.

And I take with a fierceness that only pushes him higher and it is his turn to arch as the feeling builds. His hands grasp my hips as he drives up to meet me, I shake with the force of it.

And he orgasms. He writhes beneath me, his head thrown back as cries rip from him, pleasure torn from him.

And later, when calm descends, he wraps me in his arms and murmurs words of love to me, promises of forever. I snuggle into his embrace, the smell of his skin following me down as I drift into sleep. His words follow too, stories of gods and men, stories of Loki.


	38. Home

“Her choice has been made. You lost this wager, Óðinn.”

He gazes at me from on high. “It is not over, Loki. You will go back to your duty. Or you shall not see her again. I have said it more times than I care to consider and you’ve denied me at every turn. Now, I will force it upon you.”

“I am going home to her, Óðinn. There will be no war for me.”

“Þórr said as much. He gave me your words. You cannot stop it now.”

I purse my lips. “Have you heard nothing I’ve said? Or do you choose simply not to listen? I quit.”

“Líf does not belong to Loki.”

“I quit, Óðinn.”

“Quit being Loki? You are capable of nothing more.” And he smiles. “No, you will not quit. I will see it finished by your hand.”

“I refuse it. I refuse my fate. I refuse my part in all of this. I quit.”

I turn away from his throne.

“If you do this, if you walk away, she will die.”

“You cannot kill her. She is Líf.”

“But I can kill her love of you, Loki.”

“I quit.”

“You think her life was bad before? You think it is only her store I can take from her? From you?”

I walk away. There is nothing for me here.

Óðinn and Thor greet me in silence, watching as I sneak up behind her. I wait until she sets aside her book and then I kiss the back of her neck, thankful for the updo she wears this day.

She lets out a squeak and then puts her hands over mine as they slide across her hips.

“Luke, I missed you. I thought you might not make it.”

I kiss her cheek, force rising desire to wait. “I got you something.”

She turns in my arms to look up into my eyes. “You did? What?”

I slip my hands up her back and drape a necklace around her neck, fastening it on her.

She looks down, her finger tracing the rune carved into the iron coin. “It’s lovely.”

“You are lovely. It is merely a very old mention of a god, my dear.”

She kisses me. “Why this one, Lukas?”

“So you will think of me when you see it. I still want you in my camp.” I lift her up to kiss. “I missed you.”

I sit her on the counter and she wraps her arms and legs around me. Desire flares and I latch onto her mouth.

This house once belonged to her parents, she told me. And before that, her grandparents. And this house, built by first generation nordic immigrants, feels like home to me. She feels like home to me. I want her. I want this. Please, just a while longer.

I draw back to look into her eyes, my nose touching hers. “I’m home now. I won’t go away again.”

“No?”

“No.” I brush my lips over hers. “I’m staying now.”

“What about your work?”

I shrug. “Things will take care of themselves.”

I want it to be true. Even as I carry her to bed and make-love to her, I want it to be true.

And in the after, when we’re wrapped together and can think once more, I tell her that my love will never die. And I want it to be true.


	39. New Year

“Are you ready?” I’m waiting for her. She insisted on showering before we head out for the night.

I’m dressed casually, much like the day we met. And I’m waiting.

“Yes.”

“Great.” And it is great.

I’m home and in her arms and all is right with the world. It’s New Year’s Eve and we’re going out.

It’s her friends party to which we go. She smooths me into the circle as if I belong. Maybe I do. Maybe here, among her friends and her life, I belong as I never have before.

She gets pulled away from me, of course. But it’s fine. It’s loud and happy here, everyone comfortable and casual and it’s almost the new year. It’s almost midnight.

I see her from across the room. She is so beautiful. I stop just to stare at her, my drink forgotten momentarily in my hand.

I long for her and I love her. I know it shows but I don’t care. It’s there for everyone to see. Watching her this way, just observing her from afar, feels incredible.

She feels my stare and looks up at me. A small smile lifts my lips, my cheeks. I could look at her all night.

The realization that Óðinn will have his revenge after all and I am screwed comes on the heels of that thought. I’m too far away to protect her.

I see the man rise up behind her, appearing from nowhere. And he has her before I can react, before I get more than a few feet toward her.

Screams. Fear. I feel it from her, from those around her who are shocked by what is happening. And I lunge but I am too late.

He’s taken her from under my nose. I hear the car move off, the tires spinning in the new snow on the drive. I hear the party goers, confused, yelling and trying to figure out what has just happened in their midst.

This will not happen.


	40. Heimdallr

Trapped. I try to bite the arm that holds me and receive a knock to the head for the effort. I scream as I’m tossed into a waiting car.

“Lukas! Luke!” I bang on the windows.

“He can’t hear you, love.”

I try to kick him and am immediately restrained.

“Let me go! Luke!”

“He will be along shortly, I’m sure. He has a knack for it.”

“Where are you taking me? Let me go!” I’ve struggled until I break free. I kick him before I’m restrained once more. The men behind me force me to the floor, stretch me out to hold my arms and legs.

“What is this?” He lifts the necklace and then snorts laughter. “He’s marked you as his own. How sweet.”

His face comes into view. I snarl. “Let. It. Go.”

“So sure of yourself, love. I bet that turns him on. He’s been a lonely one for a long time, our dear Loki.”

I try to shake his hand off. “Luke? You mean Lukas.”

“Is that what he told you his name is? Loki, love. His name is Loki. And he is the trickster.”

“Lukas Farbauson,” I insist. “His name is Lukas.”

My mind churns. Lukas and his knowledge, his book of prophecy, the stories told on the edge of my dreams. Lukas telling me over and over who he is, showing me again and again what must surely be true.

“Loki, son of Farbauti…”

I’ve always known, haven’t I? Maybe not always but for longer than I care to admit. The fire, the books, all of it.

Loki the trickster. Loki the god. Lukas is Loki.

There is a bang on the top of the car and a howl of anger and then he is kicking the window. They pull him into the car in a heap even as we stop at the edge of the park.

“Loki. About time you showed up.”

“She’s got nothing to do with it, Heimdallr.”

I move away, their attention is on him.

“Let her go.”

“I only wanted to get your attention, Loki. Have you been having fun with your little plaything?”

He shakes his head. “Livia, you are no plaything.”

His gaze never leaves Heimdallr, but his words are for me.

“I promise you,” he says to me.

“Óðinn told me you were weak, Loki. I had no idea you were in love with a mortal.” He sneers. “Or are you?”

“Your fight is with me, Heimdallr. Let her go. Don’t do this.”

The god sits back, amused. “Oh Loki. I owe you so very much. No. She is spoils of war, my friend.”

“I’m not your friend.”

“No, you’re not.”

And he punches Loki in the face.

Loki’s lips twist into a spiteful grin. Though blood drips from his nose and across his mouth, he acts like he doesn’t notice. Maybe he doesn’t.

“You’ll have to do better than that,” he says to Heimdallf.

And he shifts, one moment he is Lukas in a pullover and jeans and the next his body is somehow bigger; stronger and harder than before, battle tried and covered now in brown leather armor. Runes the color of Burgundy wine and fire twine up his arms and across the wide belt that goes from shoulder to hip. They undulate, those runes. And they speak stories as first one and then another bursts into focus. I can’t keep track of them to understand what is being said.

His face remains much the same, only his eyes change and they darken to the color of the forest at night. I see hatred in his gaze.

When the mind twisting change is complete, he is Loki. And he is furious.

It was Loki I saw the day he took me to the bar. The day he looked so handsome in a suit. He was a god barely concealed. 

He scowls and wipes the blood from his face with the back of his hand.

This is going to be war. I see it, feel it, in their stares and their bodies. They intend to kill one another. Again.

He grins and the predatory look that so scared me before is back. He is unafraid of his foe and unafraid of battle.

I push myself into the furthest corner, back against the door. Across from me sit gods who are prepared to fight.


	41. Run

I cannot hide the pain that crosses my face when I see her fear. She is terrified for her own life and she is terrified of me. Irreparable damage has been done here and I will never be able to make it right.

“Let her go. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“You know what it takes, Loki. You know the prophecy as well as any.”

“This is not prophecy. This, this charade, this weak-willed and poorly executed misuse of power will not be tolerated.”

“Misuse of power? Óðinn brought me forth, Loki. No, had you not given up on Ragnarök for this woman I would not be here at all. Had you only kept your part of the bargain. But you’re known for that, aren’t you? Cheating and lying. Doing all to serve yourself.”

He hopes to get into my mind. I’m not buying it.

“I’ve done neither.”

“And what did you tell your woman? Luke was it?”

I close my eyes. I don’t want to see her pain. I did lie to her. Not for nothing though. Not just for me. I concealed my true identity. I swallow back aching regret.

“She is not your worry, Heimdallr. I am.”

“No Loki. I am yours.”

The car stops and he gets out, dragging me by the shoulder.

She climbs out of the opposite side of the car and backs away.

I turn my attention to Heimdallr. I must. I call forth my sword and helmet. I will kill Heimdallr again, if I have to. To save her from him. Though it means I lose her.

“And once I am done with you, I will take her. And the child she carries will be destroyed in my coming.”

My eyes widen but my stance doesn’t change. Pregnant? It is far too soon for that. But then I recall the nightclub and my request of Freyja.

Will I never learn? Despite the fact that they used me for their gain in that, I am still to blame. I continue to cause my beautiful Livia pain. And now I have two to protect.

“Go Livia. Run. Run far away.” I risk a single look at her. “Go! Now!”

And in that moment, Heimdallr lashes out, throwing me off balance and I tumble.

“Run little girl. I’ll find you later.”

He laughs as he plucks me from the ground.

And she does run. For that, I will be glad. It leaves me only to focus on him. So long as he target’s me, she has a chance.


	42. Quitting

I run to the tree line. Loki and Heimdallr facing off and the others, whoever they were, paid me no mind. Escape is paramount in my thoughts. Escape from all of them.

I am sorry I ever heard of these gods. I am sorry I ever got involved.

But Lukas…Loki, I mean.

No, he’s Loki, for God’s sake.

I cannot be considering turning back.

He lied to me. About everything.

I stop behind a tree, my hands pressed to the rough bark, my breathing painful from the sprint to safety.

Loki lied to me.

Except, he didn’t, did he? He tried to give me hints, he tried to show me all along. He told the truth in his deception.

He said he was Lukas but even in his name he gave me a clue to who he really was. Farbauson. Son of Farbau is not so far from Farbauti, the name given for Loki’s father. Lukas, Luke, Loki.

No.

He lied about being a god and about what he was doing on earth. Only, he told me his role in Ragnarök. He told me he dealt in bad faith situations with governments, didn’t he? That was true, if a little misleading. He even chose a bar whose very theme told the truth about his role.

He showed me the prophecy, gave me the book even.

He screamed it to me over and over and…I refused to see, refused to believe the hints he dropped, refused him.

I walk back to the edge of the trees.

Loki has gained his feet and is holding a sword out to the side as Heimdallr circles, seeking some deficiency in Loki, seeking to kill. Even to me this looks a foolish way to defend. He looks like he’s never held a sword for battle before. Or as if he will play no part in one. Oh no. I realize too late what he means to do, to not do.

“You are weak, Loki. Ragnarök still happens, though you’ve not done your part. Óðinn will see it done.”

“No. He will not. Miðgarðr deserves none of this. We do not deserve them, these humans. They strive while we merely exist. They grow while we bicker. I will not.”

And he drops the sword from his outstretched hand.

Heimdallr rushes him, carrying Loki back with the force of his move, throwing the god to the ground once again.

And Loki lays still, one arm over his chest, his gaze on Heimdallr.

“Stand up and fight as it was foretold.”

“No.”

Heimdallr lifts the sword.

“Powerless, pathetic excuse for a god. Unreliable, unsubstantial, impotent and weak. You sicken me. Your wordfame is over, Loki. None will share in your fall. None will save you.”

And he tosses away the the sword.

“I am Loki. I am not what you say. Nor am I a fool, Heimdallr. You were sent to ensure Ragnarök and I refuse you. I do not want to see this end. Not yet. There is so much we can learn and do. We can be better.”

“Ragnarök, Loki. It is foretold. Your part in it, foretold. Stand up and do battle.”

“No.”


	43. To death

I watch Heimdallr come to the decision. It’s in the way his eyes narrow even as his gaze grows cold. Then, he rushes me a final time.

Well, if this is the way I must end, at least Livia will live out her life. I hope someone will intervene on her part. Surely there is one god among so very many who will offer her protection from him when he is through with me.

I close my eyes.

But the killing stroke doesn’t come.

I feel something and when I open my eyes, she is standing astride me, her feet planted on either side my shoulders.

Heimdallr hesitates, apparently as astonished by her appearance as am I.

He doesn’t arrest his forward momentum in time and my sword is there, in her hands, ready to meet his chest. The tip first pierces leather and then drives into him, his own weight ensuring the metal is buried to the hilt.

I’m frozen in place, utterly convinced she’s died, despite all evidence to the contrary.

Then Heimdallr collapses to his knees and falls atop me. I groan beneath the weight and then shove him away. “You killed him.”

As far as something to say, it lacks my usual finesse, but I’m not sure what has just happened.

“He was going to kill you.”

And she collapses to her knees at my side.

“Ah yes. I believe that was the plan.” And then, as if to reassure myself of it, “You returned.”

I struggle up, it’s imperative that Heimdallr’s lackeys are brought down if they remain in the area. She is still in danger.

“Broke my ribs,”I mutter. “Bastard.”

Seeing no one, I turn to Livia. She’s risen and stares at me with wide eyes. Shock, I imagine.

“Never lie to me again.”

She smacks me across the face. Hard enough to make me blink, I might add.

“I deserved that.”

“Yes, you did.” And she starts to cry.

I go to her, put my arm around her.

“It’s going to be all right.”

“Oh my God it is not. You lied to me. You’re Loki for God’s sake. You fucked a horse!”

I want to giggle. Of all the things I’ve done to her, to the world, that is what she brings up?

“Yeah, about that,”

“Shut up.”

Good advice. I close my mouth.

“Do you love me?”

She stares at the ground, tears drip off her cheeks but I dare not touch her further.

“More than anything,” I assure her.

“You were going to die rather than fight him.”

“It was all I could think to do.”

“Idiot.”

And she hits me again. Shoulder this time. I can take it. If it makes her feel better, she can beat the living shit out of me. It’s fine.

“I deserved that, too.”

“If you ever so much as consider lying to me again, I will leave you and never return. Do you understand me?”

“Perfectly.”

“Promise me, Loki.”

My heart skips a beat. It is the first time she’s called me Loki and, by all that is sacred, it sounds beautiful on her lips. I open my mouth to speak but breathe a chuckle instead. Yes. Say it again, say it forever.

“I will never lie to you, Livia. Never. I swear it.”

“I need some time. I can’t think. I don’t know what to think.”

She gestures at my clothing.

“I don’t even know what you are.”

“I’m everything I have ever been, good and bad.”

The sky above us pales momentarily and I cringe inwardly. The last thing I want has arrived.

“What is this betrayal?”

So angry. So righteous of him. Self-serving bastard.

“Óðinn, so good of you to come. Yes, tell me please, what is this betrayal you have committed?” I gesture at Heimdallr’s body.

“She chose you.” Óðinn is ignoring me. He’s staring at Livia.

I resist the urge to strike him. I grin instead. She chose me? I think she did, at that. Even now, I believe it to be true. Especially now.

“I told you that,” I remind him.

“And Heimdallr is dead.”

“He was sent to kill me. It was self-defense.”

I squeeze her thigh, willing her to silence in my mind.

“She is unharmed?” He’s still looking at her, studying her.

“What do you care?”

I pull her closer to my chest. Mine. Not his.

“Ragnarök is done, Loki. Even now the Jötnar cross the bridge bound for Ásgarðr .”

“Let them have it.”

He lifts his gaze to mine.

“You will not fight among them?”

“I am done fighting, Óðinn. How many times must I say it? Must I scream it from a mountain top?”

“Miðgarðr will be destroyed.”

“Then I shall go with it.”

She turns to stare at me and I squeeze her once again.

“But it will not come to that, Óðinn.” I offer him a devious smile.“It was not for you to start the war. That was for me to do.”

“And you were quite successful at it, Loki.”

“By your hand, old man, not my own. You sent Heimdallr here. You left the gate unguarded, not me. If the Jötnar take Ásgarðrit is not my doing and, therefore, the prophesy remains unfulfilled.”

Statues. We stand in silence so long that I believe we must surely have turned to stone. Even Livia stares at me as if utterly shocked that I have won. And I had so hoped she saw me as at least a little intelligent. I smirk.


	44. Seiðr

“Is she worth it?” Óðinn asks.

“Definitely.”

“You’ll get only one short mortal lifespan with her.”

“I’ll take what I can get.”

Loki sounds so at peace with his decision. So confident in it. As if I am the only thing worthy of his attention. 

“You cannot stop Ragnarök, you know this.”

“But I can bring Líf with me to wait until the time is right to repopulate Miðgarðr one day.”

“You are not Lífþrasir.”

“No, but I could be.”

And Óðinn turns away.

“Loki.” I pull his tunic. What did he say? What does he ask Óðinn in those words?

“Don’t ask me, Liv. Please.”

He won’t meet my gaze.

“Or you will have to break your promise to me? An oath you so recently took?”

He nods and bites back a smile.

“One human is worth all this?” Demands Óðinn.

“Yes.” He brushes his fingers over my cheek and the smile breaks free.

Óðinn nods as if he were expecting this answer.

Loki gingerly lowers himself to kneel before the Allfather. He gains one knee, his arm bracing his ribs, his head bowed.

“Óðinn, I ask for nothing else.”

“And at the appointed time, you will fulfill your duties?”

“Exactingly and with supreme pleasure.”

Óðinn stares at the supplicant kneeling in the dirty snow at his feet. He seems bemused by Loki.

“Truly? She is worth it?” Disbelief coats his words.

What is Loki doing?

“I could conquer the world with my left hand, were she at my right.” And he looks at me.

“Ásgarðrneeds no more conquerors, Loki.”

He lowers his head once more. “As you say, Óðinn.”

I realize with a suddenness that leaves me dizzy, that this is Mark standing before us in the garb of a god. And Loki begs favor of him. Pieces drop into place for me as more of Loki’s story turns out to be true.

“Very well. Remain in Miðgarðr with your love, Loki. Trouble me no more until it is time. And do not forget that I will be watching.”

They both look at Heimdallr’s body.

Óðinn shrugs. “He will recover, in time.”

“And Liv?”

“Keep her healthy. That child will require both your care.”

And he disappears in a flash.

“Well, that’s settled then.”

“You’ve got a lot to explain,” I tell him.

Loki smiles.


	45. Resolution

I am Loki. I am chaos. And you, my dear child, are the future. Learn well what we have to teach. Miðgarðr is your birth right and you will someday be king.


End file.
